


the suffering of fools

by AngelicSentinel



Series: ♠ ♦ ♣ ♥ [1]
Category: Magic Kaito, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: Drunken Shenanigans, M/M, Marriage Proposal, No dubious consent, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2018-09-24 15:23:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 43,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9767945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelicSentinel/pseuds/AngelicSentinel
Summary: It's Las Vegas; the lights are bright, the liquor is flowing, and Ran married someone other than Shinichi. He just wants to drown his sorrows, but a half-familiar face steals his drink.





	1. [Spades]

Shinichi’s out of it. He knows he’s out of it. As in, legally-the-bartender-should-have-cut-him-off-several-drinks-ago out of it.

Somehow, he can’t find it in himself to care.

Ran’s married. She’s married, and Shinichi did his duty and stood by her side, and he should be allowed to mourn, okay?

He had to sit there and watch it and not say anything. And it’s all his fault because he hadn’t said anything.

He let her go.

He hates Conan. Conan took everything away from him, even her. And what Conan didn’t take, Hondō Eisuke did.

That should have been him today watching her walk up the aisle in a lavish western wedding. Oh, but she looked like a dream, like a queen, like royalty, like the sun, radiant and resplendent in her white gown.

He’s so stupid.

Shinichi can’t blame them. The only one he has to blame is himself.

He couldn’t bear to watch them. He left the reception early, too early, skipped out of the hotel, wandered aimlessly around Vegas for a while, until rain began drizzling down and forced him to duck inside the nearest casino.

It’s a desert. Rain is a falsehood, a lie. Unreal. What are the chances? But it’s just a firm measure of his luck. He can’t remember the name of the casino, but he found the bar quickly enough. It looks like a palace on the inside, all glamour and glitz and artifice. An illusion.  It’s one of the big famous places just off the strip, and even though he doesn’t watch films too often, he’s probably seen this one in them half a dozen times.

And he knows he’s sloshed. Pissed. Drunk out of his mind, and it’s still not enough. For once in his life, he doesn’t want to think. He doesn’t want to deduce. That’s what got him in trouble on the first place. Thinking. Thinking that Ran would wait. Thinking she wouldn’t move on if he lied and told her he’d never lo—he didn’t ever have feelings for her.

So, so stupid.

And in the end, it didn’t keep her safe. They kidnapped her anyway. But by then she was already engaged. It had never been about what she felt for him, just about what he felt for her.

Oh, Shinichi feels sick. Sick and stupid and bitter and miserable and hurt.

And it’s his own damn fault.

He waves wordlessly for another drink, and the bartender obliges. She’s dark-haired, but the pity in her brown eyes churns his stomach, and it’s too similar to _her_ , and he turns away, not wanting to see. Ran has the same eyes.

Shinichi will be better tomorrow. Tomorrow, he’ll paste on a smile and pretend everything is fine, look into Ran’s eyes and lie to her face like he has for so many years. But tonight he will mourn and drink and drink and drink and drink until he doesn’t feel a thing. He takes a big gulp, having long gotten used to the burn of the hard liquor.

It’s still not enough. He tilts back his head, ready to knock back the rest of the glass, when it mysteriously disappears.

He blinks, looking at his empty hand against his mouth. That’s not right.

There’s a shadow over him. Shinichi tilts his head even farther back, looking up at it from a head nearly upside down. He swallows thickly, which pulls at his throat, blinks again. It’s a white suit. Heh. He can see up his nose. That’s kind of gross. He raises his head, turns to look at him properly. The bowtie is a soft red against the blue of the pleated evening shirt. White tailcoat, white waistcoat. The shadow swims. It’s not a bad suit. It’s not a good suit either. It’s an annoying suit. He knows this suit.

“I think you’ve had enough,” he hears a man say, thick and slow and from a distance, as if he’s hearing it from underwater. There’s a glass filled with amber liquid in his hand. Shinichi’s glass. He says it in English. Shinichi is fluent, but it takes him a minute to parse it through the haze of alcohol.

Shinichi’s vision is blurry, so he can’t get a good look at his face, but he knows this man. Knows every inch of his profile. In fact, Shinichi thinks the alcohol helps since he only sees the face in pieces, like a Picasso. He knows the lower half of that face.

“Thief,” Shinichi slurs.

“What?” the man says, a little taken aback.

“Give it back, Kid,” Shinichi repeats, voice loud. “'Oo already got all the jewels and stuff, lemme have my drink.” People are turning to look at them. Shinichi doesn’t care, but Kid looks a little nervous, which is weird since he’s always liked a spectacle.

“Excuse me?”

“Gimme,” Shinichi whines, standing up, wobbling and nearly falling over but he catches himself on the bar. He pushes off and grabs blindly for his glass, tripping over the moving floor. He lands in Kid’s arms, Kid just barely stopping the drink from spilling all over them both. “‘Smine, not yours.”

Kid still won’t give it to him, looking at him all wary, so he pats down his pocket. Oh, he hopes he hasn’t lost it. The floor moves again, so he leans his head against Kid’s chest until the world stops, still patting himself down. It’s not working, so he falls to his knees, brushing down the length of his body, still looking for it.

It’s stupid to keep it on him, even after all this time, but Shinichi already knows he’s stupid. He finds it in his coat with a triumphant “Ha!” He holds it out. The outside is soft and velvet and plush. It feels good in his hands.

Kid’s eyes are wide.

Shinichi cracks open the dark box. It’s a three carat diamond, gold band, with a triangle of sapphires surrounding the main stone that once reminded Shinichi of Ran’s eyes. Kid probably has a jewel sensing mechanism, that’s how he knew he had the ring.

He looks at Kid, and Kid has striking eyes. It’s funny how he never noticed before how blue they are. It takes a couple of tries, but he slips the ring on Kid’s ring finger. It fits like it was made for it.

Kid’s face is pinking. He’s saying something, trying to pull his hand away but Shinichi’s grip is too tight.

“There. You have the last jewel. Now gimme my drink,” Shinichi says, standing and listing to the side, reaching for the glass again.

Kid doesn’t give it to him, raising it high above his head.

“It’s not fair,” Shinichi whines again. “What do you want from me?”

Kid licks his lips, opens his mouth to say something, but there’s a slight sheen on his lips now, and Shinichi can’t bring himself to look away. Kid’s face is still a little pink. Shinichi’s looking at his lips, but he probably should pay attention to what he’s saying as well. Shinichi wants to touch.

“—just accuse people of being international thieves,” he’s saying.

But Shinichi’s not. “But you are the Kaitou Kid,” he says. “It’s not an accusation if it’s true. I’d know you anywhere. Besides, you stole my drink. That’s hard proof,” he says with a decisive nod.

“I’m trying to stop you from drinking yourself into an early grave,” Kid mumbles.

“Not gonna die,” Shinichi says proudly, putting his hands on his hips like a superhero and nearly falling over.  “I know my limits.”

“I don’t think you do,” Kid says, “and I’m not Kid. I am the great magician, Ku—” Shinichi cuts him off by putting a finger on his lips. They’re nice and soft, so he traces them, surprisingly coordinated.

“Don’t wanna know.”

“But—” And Kid’s turned red again.

“Shh!” Shinichi says, leaning close. Close enough to feel Kid’s breath on his face. It smells like cinnamon. “It’s not fair. Only at heists,” he says. “If I find you out there, that’s okay.” He can feel warmth radiating from him, so he puts the side of his face against Kid’s. He’s warm and Shinichi’s face has gone numb, and it feels good.

“What’s got you so convinced I’m Kid?” Kid says, and it sounds helpless. Shinichi feels the words vibrate against his cheek.

Shinichi pulls away and looks up, and whoa his eyes are dark. Like a black abyss with a little corona of blue around them. “I’d know you anywhere,” he says, and his voice comes out a little rougher than he intended. He licks his own lips, and Kid’s eyes flicker down. Shinichi shakes his head, and the world spins.

What was he talking about? Oh. “You quit,” Shinichi accuses. “You quit being Kid and left me all alone.”

“I’m not Kid,” Kid says, exasperated.

Shinichi tilts his head. That’s true. “Maybe not now, but you were.”

“I’m just a magician!”

“Kid’s a magician,” Shinichi says. He leans forward again, moves a little too fast, and the world swims instead of spins. He’s dizzy. Such a weird sensation.

“So are a lot of other people,” Kid says.

“Yeah but they’re not you,” Shinichi says, pointing out the obvious. He doesn’t know why Kid can’t see it. “I don’t have an ‘other-people’ sense. I have a ‘Kid-sense.’ I know when it’s you.” It’s not like a sense-sense. It’s a combination of manner and the way he walks and his profile and his eyes and his smile that pings at his awareness, something he’s unconsciously drawn to. It’s not like he does it on purpose. He just knows.

“I’ve never even met you before,” Kid says. “If I were Kid, and I’m not saying I am, wouldn’t I remember you?”

Shinichi goggles. That’s good as an admission. He throws his hands out in front of him and counts on his fingers, going through all the times they’ve met. “Like ten times,” Shinichi says, holding up seven fingers. “A lot. There was the time with your bra, the time with the cage—” Shinichi hears giggling. There are people watching them and listening. He clamps his mouth shut. Even as drunk as he is, something doesn’t feel right about it. He’s forgetting something. Something big and important.

“Go on,” Kid says, intrigued.

Well if Kid thinks it’s okay… “You zapped me with a taser!” Shinichi whines. “It hurt.”

“Kinky, Kuroba,” the bartender says. “What did you do, moonlight at a roleplay BDSM club before you headlined here?”

“No,” Kid says. “It’s not like that at all,” he says, hands up. Kid is looking at him weirdly. Shinichi doesn’t know how to classify the look, but it has changed. Before it had looked almost indulgent. But now, Kid isn’t smiling. His face is shuttered, his eyes narrowed. “Go on,” he says, and there’s real interest in it now. Shinichi feels like prey under those eyes.

That’s right. Not many people know about the taser. It wasn’t publicized.

The world is still swimming. “That time you put a gun to my head. That was kind of scary, but exciting.”

“A gun?” Kid says faintly, like he can’t believe it. That’s fair. Shinichi couldn’t believe it either at the time.

Shinichi scrunches up his nose. “I think it was your card gun. I knew you wouldn’t do it. You don’t steal lives, ‘cause it’s impossible to return them once they’re gone.”

Kid leans close, running his hand up and down Shinichi’s suit, fingering his tie, touching his throat, behind his ear, checking for a wire or listening device. He doesn’t find one because Shinichi isn’t wearing one. “So say I am the Kaitou Kid. What are you going to do?” Kid says the words low, against his ear, but he speaks them in Japanese.

Shinichi shivers. “Nothing,” he responds in the same language. Then he realises why Kid is worried. “I’m not here to arrest you. I didn’t even know you were here. I’m just here to forget, but you stole my drink,” he accuses. “I’m getting soberer by the second,” he says, pouting. But it’s okay. Kid helped him forget, really forget, for a little while. He looks longingly towards his glass, still in Kid’s hand.

“What do you mean, 'arrest?’”

Shinichi fumbles for his police badge, holding it upside down. “It’s outside my jurisdiction anyway. _Way_ outside.”

“Oh, of course,” Kid mutters as he knocks back the rest of Shinichi’s glass in one gulp. “You would grow up to be a police detective.”

Shinichi stares. That’s an indirect kiss. “Not fair!” Shinichi says again. “That was mine. You’re mean!” He grasps Kid’s sleeve, tugging, pulling Kid against him, causing him to stumble.

“Zara!” Kid says, forcing Shinichi to sit bodily on the stool and then sitting next to him. “Two more!” Shinichi slouches over, nearly falling off but for Kid’s steadying arm coming around his shoulder.

The bartender laughs. “If you can’t beat 'em, join 'em?” she says.

“Something like that,” Kid admits. “You’ll keep 'em coming? I can’t be sober for this conversation.”

“I think your fiancé has drunk enough for both of you,” she says, but she slides one over to him and one over to Shinichi anyway.

“Fiancé?” Kid says stupidly.

“You’re wearing his ring,” Zara bartender lady points out. “I didn’t exactly hear you say no.”

Kid looks down at his hand, then looks back up at the ceiling like he wishes he was anywhere but here. “He’s just a friend of a friend. I don’t even know him all that well.”

“Right,” she says, drawing out the word. “I’ve never seen you act this way with anyone, and we’ve been friends for three years.”

“I would be remiss in my friend duties if I let him drink alone.”

“Uh-huh. That’s why you’re letting him hang all over you. ”

“What?” Shinichi says, feeling like he’s missed something important. “We’re not friends.” Shinichi doesn’t really have friends, not anymore. They’re all tainted with Conan, and he doesn’t like it. Even Hattori.  

Even Kid.

“No one should have to drink alone,” Kid says. “Besides,” he says, switching back to Japanese, “I think I do remember you.” He knocks back another glass. “Only, you were like, this big,” Kid says, holding his hand up to about half the height of the bar. “My, how you’ve grown!”

Shinichi squints. “You’re not denying you’re Kid anymore?” he says, suspicious.

“You’re not denying you’ve grown?” Kid fires back. “What was it? A growth ray? Were you abducted by aliens?” Kid asks, eager.

Shinichi laughs. It’s the gut-busting, belly-deep kind. That has to be the funniest thing he’s ever heard. Kid’s pouting because he thinks Shinichi is laughing at him, and well, he kind of is, but he’s also kind of not. “A shrink ray is closer,” he says, finally managing to speak.

“So the aliens got you with a shrink ray? But you’re so much taller!” And he sounds oddly excited. “What happened? Did you shrink so much you disappeared into nothing and then grew by tearing the fabric of the universe?”

Shinichi lets out a slow, baffled blink. “No, I was big before.” Kid looks confused, so he elaborates. “I was sixteen.” He mimicks an explosion. “Then woosh! Six,” he says. “Then Conan.” He scowls. “I hate Conan.” Shinichi says it with vehemence.

“So you hate yourself?” Kid asks.

Kid gets it.

Shinichi sniffs. “I’m stupid,” he says quietly, tears welling up in his eyes as he remembers again.

Ran. He tries to blink the tears away, but that just makes them fall instead.

“Now, now, little detective, that’s no way to talk!” Kid says, arms around him. Shinichi hears him mutter to himself, “Emotional drunk, got it.” Kid takes a deep breath, pastes on a smile. “The detective I knew was smart indeed,” Kid says, and it’s tentative, but Shinichi thinks the confirmation is an offering of peace, a return for him acknowledging he and Conan are one and the same. “Too smart to be poisoning himself with alcohol.”

Shinichi laughs bitterly, unable to stop the tears from flowing now that they’ve started. “Have you ever loved someone?”

Kid stills, hands tightening around Shinichi like a vice.

“I love her. I love her so, so, much. I had it all planned out. I was going to take down the people that did this to me,” he waves wordlessly at himself, “then I was going to ask her to marry me, once I was myself again.”

“Detective…”

“I couldn’t tell her. I lived with her, watched her fall apart over me.” He laughs again, ever so darkly. “Again and again and again and again. She couldn’t know because it would make her a target. I lied and lied and lied and lied.”

Shinichi leans forward and his head thunks as it hits the bar.

“Then one day it was too much. I couldn’t stand to see her hurting anymore,” he mumbles into the wood of the bar. ”So I told her I didn’t love her. That I never loved her, not like that.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” Kid breathes, and it sounds like he really means it.

“It hurt her worse for a little while, but then she got better.”

“Yeah,” Kid agrees.

“And they kidnapped her anyway, shot her, dangled her a hundred floors above the ground. We were lucky to get away with our lives,” Shinichi says, swirling his drink around. It sloshes unevenly over the ice. He knocks it back, then takes Kid’s for good measure and drinks that too. Haha, payback. “She’s married now, you know.” Shinichi says. “To some baby-faced bastard.”

Kid snorts.

Shinichi frowns. “That’s not fair. He’s a good guy. It’s not his fault. It’s not hers, either. It’s mine. I mean, what? I told her I never loved her. Who does that?” he says, bewildered. “Of course she wouldn’t wait.”

“You know who does that?” Kid says. “People that want to keep their loved ones safe, even from themselves,” he says, and it sounds just as bitter as Shinichi’s own self-loathing.

“She got married today,” Shinichi says, miserable. “I was her man-of-honor. Sonoko was so angry. But Ran was adamant I stand with her.”

“So that’s why you’re trying to pickle yourself,” Kid says.

“Got it in one,” Shinichi says. “I’ll be better tomorrow,” he says, rubbing his eyes with his palms. “But I thought, 'One night to mourn, and then I’ll be okay.’”

“One night won’t be enough,” Kid warns. “You don’t want to turn into an alcoholic.” It sounds like experience talking.

“And be like Occhan?” Shinichi says, disgusted. “No way!” He looks, really looks at Kid’s face for the first time. He’s been avoiding it because he doesn’t want to know what he looks like. Kid’s sad. His knuckles are turning white from clutching his glass so hard. “I think she might have waited, if I’d asked,” Shinichi says. “But I didn’t.”

It turns quiet. Kid doesn’t say anything. Nothing but the murmur of patrons and the clink of glasses.

“Hey, Kid?” Shinichi says to break the silence.

“Yeah?” Kid says.

“Don’t be sad, either.” Shinichi says, tracing a smile on Kid’s face, touching those soft lips again. “Forget with me.”

Kid lets out a shuddering breath. “Okay,” he says. Then, “Okay.” He downs another glass, then another.

Shinichi doesn’t know how deep into his cups he is. Kid’s friend Zara is as good as her word and keeps them supplied with alcohol, enough to keep them drunk, but not enough to make them sick. Shinichi thinks he loves her for that.

Kid’s matched him drink for drink, and even more. They’ve had to switch from Shinichi’s tab to his just to keep up.

It’s a very pleasant floating buzz.

It’s twilight now, and Shinichi’s mobile has been vibrating so much he’s had to turn it off. Kid’s hasn’t gone off once.

The world is rocking pleasantly when Shinichi catches sight of Kid’s hand.

“Oh my god. You’re wearing a ring,” Shinichi says.

“I am?” Kid says, blinking. “Oh. I am,” he says, looking down at it. “It’s pretty.”

“That’s my ring,” Shinichi says, squinting at it. It’s hard to see. It keeps moving. But he thinks he recognises it.

“Oh my god. We’re married,” Kid says, stunned.

Shinichi frowns. “We’re not,” he says. “I don’t have yours. We’re only engaged.”

“Well, why not?” Kid says, pouting. “It’s not fair! We should match. Come on!” he says, tugging at his hand. Shinichi can’t do anything but follow.

The nice lady behind the bar is calling out to them but Shinichi doesn’t care. Kid’s hand is warm in his, and as they run, Shinichi realizes the slope of his shoulders and the nape of his neck is quite nice.

It’s early evening, the sun is just setting, but the lights are already bright and disorienting, even for a Tokyo native; the neon flickers in and out, the tourist crowds are thick after the rain, the dampness lingers making everything hot and sticky, the smell of burning oil and other petroleum products makes Shinichi nauseous.

They don’t stay on the Strip long. Kid ducks down a few side streets, and suddenly they’re at a jeweller’s. Bright pink footprints mar the sidewalk outside. It’s small, not as flashy as the other storefronts, and looks a little run down. Kid pushes the door in; the cool, dry air feels wonderful to Shinichi’s feverish skin.

The inside is clean and inviting, a far cry from how it looks outside.

“Hey, long time no see!” a swarthy man with a moustache calls from the back of the store.

“Hey, Miguel,” Kid says, sauntering through the glass cases, leaning over a case of rings close to the cash register. “How’s Lupe?”

“She’s doing great! She misses you. You should come by for dinner sometime. What can I do for you today?” He comes out from behind the counter. His English is lilting and musical.

“Looking for a pair of wedding bands.”

Miguel’s eyebrows raise. “Oh, for your friend, there? Unless there’s a _señorita_ you haven’t told me about, eh?” He elbows Kid in the side. Kid takes it with grace, laughing and waving him off. “The case is over there.”

Kid walks over to it, thinking about it for a moment, leaning down. “Hmm, yeah. Those’ll work.” His hand slides forward as he peers in the case, and the proprietor catches sight of the ring, grabbing Kid’s hand and nearly making him slip.

Miguel whistles. “That’s a custom piece. Good work, too.” He turns sly, white teeth gleaming, crow’s feet crinkling as he beams at Kid. “Hey, you didn’t tell me they were for you two, huh. Not a little lady after all. He’s handsome.”

Shinichi’s not sure if he’s seeing things, but he thinks he sees the faintest hint of pink on Kid’s cheeks.

”I said I owed you, man. Fifty percent off whatever. Whole store.”

Kid frowns. “How do you make money?”

“Well if it weren’t for you, I’d be out my whole stock, so,” the man shrugs.

Shinichi can see the signs of a break in. Frayed wires, darker colored paint where they’d moved the CCTV cords that were cut. Also signs of a higher quality security system being put in place. Reinforced locks on the cases.

And perhaps the most telling, bright pink paint splatter showing the silhouette of a human being given a place of honour.  He smiles. That explains the footprints outside.

“Full price,” Kid says.

“All right, all right. Let me know if you find anything you like,” he says, just leaving thousands of dollars out as he heads into the back room.

Kid takes his time perusing the case. “What do you think about this one?” he says, holding out a pair of white gold bands with diamonds all around them.

“You stopped a thief?” Shinichi asks.

“Mhmm. Needed new cufflinks. Lupe’s a fan. Literally ran into me one day at my show. I helped her up. She mentioned her husband’s shop when she saw me fiddling with my loose buttonhole and I couldn’t not go.”

“That—” Shinichi pauses, looking for a good word. It’s hard to find when he has to fight through the haze to think.

“Yes, too flashy for you.”

That wasn’t what he was going to say. Kid continues to surprise him. It makes sense for a thief to be the best deterrent against thieves. He is drawn though, to the yellow gold bands. They’re all so plain, and honestly he does prefer them, but there’s a pair that has little bits of sapphire embedded every so often. He points to it, grabs at Kid’s hand with the ring. “It matches,” he says, feeling inordinately proud of himself.    

“That it does, Detective. These?” He says, and suddenly he’s too close. Wide eyed, Shinichi can only nod and tilt forward, leaning against him.

“These it is!” Kid chirps, settling his hand around Shinichi’s hip.  

Miguel comes back not a moment too soon, and he has something with him. “Here. Since you won’t accept the discount,” he says, handing things to Shinichi. He opens his hand It’s a matching pair of jewelled cufflinks, the same ones as Kid is wearing now, and a tie clip, two, three grand easy. “So you can match at the wedding, yeah?”

“Thanks Miguel,” Kid says, and he sounds a little choked up.

“No problem, my friend. I’m expecting an invitation to the wedding though!”

Kid gives him the rings, and he nods. “Of course,” he says as Miguel rings them up, goes through his inventory and gives them the correct sizes. Kid won’t let him wrap them, even as he does accept the ring boxes.

Kid slips the ring on Shinichi’s finger while they’re still in the cool air of the store. “Now we match,” Kid says, grinning.

Shinichi does the same, and something in his heart lurches at how well the three rings go together. It matches the diamond ring almost perfectly.

And then Kid grabs his hand, and they move back into the Las Vegas night.

Kid moves with purpose, like he’s walked these streets for years. Who knows? Maybe he has. His posture is good, his head held high like he has a lot to be proud of.

They walk for some time before Shinichi sees Kid’s face plastered all over a billboard advertising his magic show.  He’s stunned for a moment, just staring. Maybe he does have a lot to be proud of. He stops. Their hands are still linked together

“It says that you’re a world famous magician and escape artist,” Shinichi says, giggling. “That’s what it says,” he says, pointing. “It’s your face.”

“Well, yes. And?” Kid says, like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t have his face plastered all over it. Like it doesn’t say he’s famous.

“World famous magician and _escape artist_ ,” Shinichi repeats with emphasis. It’s almost accusational.

“Yes? I knew you’d find out my name eventually. It’s not like I’m not famous,” he sounds resigned. “Though I did hope it might be a little later.”

If there was a name up there, he’s already forgotten it. Shinichi loops his arms around Kid’s neck, whispers in his ear. “My mom’s a big fan,” he says. “I heard her talk about wanting to see you.”

“I’ll get her VIP tickets, how does that sound?” Kid says. “I’d have to know your real name first, though. You didn’t give me enough time to read your badge,” he complains.

“Of course,” Shinichi continues, ignoring the offer, “I didn’t know it was you- _you_ , or I’d have wanted to see you, too.”

“I don’t really think you’d want anything to do with me sober,” Kid says ruefully. “Considering our history and all.”

Shinichi pouts, sags against Kid’s neck almost causing the both of them to fall over before Kid braces himself against the pavement. “How can you say that?” Shinichi whines. “You were the best time I ever had,” he says, unknowing or uncaring of how loud he is. He loved the heists. They were always really fun.

Kid chokes. “You can’t just say things like that out in public!” he says.

Shinichi blinks. “But it’s true, though,” he says, still whining. “I liked chasing you.” He frowns. People are looking at them curiously. “Even when you threw women’s underwear at me,” Shinichi says, remembering the Black Star heist. That gets a few titters from the crowd forming. Shinichi doesn’t know why they are laughing.

“Detective!” Kid hisses. “Keep it down!”

“What? You know,” Shinichi says, “It’s really funny seeing you act like this when you used to have no shame. I mean that time when you dressed as a maid—” There’s outright laughter now, and Kid clamps his hand over Shinichi’s mouth. What? He’s not saying anything wrong. Kid did dress as a maid in order to get into old man Suzuki’s safe, and he did act annoying.

“Let’s go in here,” Kid says abruptly, pulling them into the nearest establishment.

It’s a karaoke bar. Shinichi drags his feet as Kid fumbles with his wallet and pays.  As drunk as he is, he knows he still sounds like a dying duck. Kid drags him in, shoves him in a booth. “I don’t want to sing,” Shinichi whines into Kid’s shoulder.

Kid lets out a sigh. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Kid says. “I just wanted to get you off the street,” he mutters. “My PR manager is going to have a field day.”

“You care about that now?” Shinichi asks, genuinely curious.

“Not really,” Kid says, “But I don’t like making extra work for people who are already working hard enough.”

“Wow. You sound really mature,” Shinichi says.

“You know, I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not. I used to not care. I guess it’s one of the things about growing older,” Kid says. “I’m sure you’d know all about it,” he says, cutting his eyes at Shinichi.

“What?”

“Growing older?”

“I guess. If it means feeling like you’re getting left behind by everyone. The Detective Boys are teenagers now,” Shinichi says. “Teenagers,” he says again. He can’t believe it. And that’s what time does. It wears things down, pulls things apart. Leaves them behind. Like everyone left Shinichi behind. And there the tears go again. Shinichi doesn’t think he’s cried this much in his life ever.

“Hey, I’m still here,” Kid says, slapping his back. Shinichi wobbles from the impact.

“You left too, though. I haven’t seen you in like this many,” he says, holding up two hands.

“Not that many,” Kid says, shaking his head. “More like—” and he starts counting on his hands, but keeps giving up after he gets to three.

“I’m old,” Shinichi says.

“Harry Houdini and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle were friends,” Kid says suddenly, out of the blue. “Did you know that?”

“Huh?” Shinichi says. He knew it once. Maybe.

“Yeah. Houdini’s job was to shower people in illusions. They weren’t real, but then, they didn’t have to be. His job was to entertain. It’s what a magician does. It’s technical skill, showmanship.”

“That’s what a magician is,” Shinichi nods, then tilts when it makes his head spin, holding on tightly to the table.

“And Doyle wrote stories about the greatest logician of his time, but he spent a lot of time and money on _séances_. He really believed. Or believed that he believed.”

“Whoa,” Shinichi says. “Ghosts aren’t logical at all.”

“Right? Houdini knew all the tricks they used, since magicians used similar things and just tried to keep his friend from being taken advantage of. It’s really too bad they had a falling out over it,” Kid says, looking down. “Anyway, the point is it’s not impossible, right? We could be friends? A detective and a magician?” He’s looking at Shinichi, expectant, focused, and Shinichi can feel himself warm. ‘A detective and a criminal,’ is what he doesn’t say. Though how much of that is true anymore Shinichi doesn’t know. If Kid steals, he doesn’t do it publically. Shinichi wonders if that leaves him feeling empty, not doing the heists anymore. It certainly made Shinichi feel like something was missing. Though he really shouldn’t encourage criminal behaviour. Maybe they could still be rivals in a non-criminal/law enforcement way?

“I don’t think so.” Kid’s face falls, and Shinichi endeavors to correct himself. “No, I mean I don’t think it’s impossible. I’d like to be friends.”

The server comes, and they order more alcohol. Shinichi doesn’t think he could keep any food down, but Kid orders water for both of them to keep something on their stomachs.

“You know, the audience loves me. For a long time, I thought that was enough, making them happy,” Kid says.

“What?” Shinichi asks. “What do you mean? Enough of what?”

“Enough love.” Kid holds out his hand, sweeping across in front of the microphone stand. “I’m not talking about romance. You ever just lack?” then he stops, like he doesn’t want to finish the thought.

“Lack what?”

“People,” Kid says. “Like, the audience loves me, but it’s their idea of me. I mean, even you—” and he stops again.

Shinichi scrunches his nose, leans over, peering at him.

“It’s not real. I have my mum, and Jii’s getting older, but who else? Nobody, that’s who. Who mourns an illusion?”

“You know, there’s still time, and we’re still here,” Shinichi says. “I’m here.”

“I just want a friend, I guess,” Kid says with a sigh. “A companion. It’s lonely like this.”

Shinichi waggles his eyebrows.”I’ll be your companion.”

“I’m sure you’ll will.” Kid shoves him a little bit, and laughs. “Aoko’s an Assistant Inspector now, you might even work with her.” He tilts his head. “Well, no. You’re probably homicide. Still, you’re closer than I’ve been in a long time.” He leans up against Shinichi. Shinichi wraps his arm around him. “We still talk, you know. But we’ve drifted so far apart it’s like we’re on distant planets. She knows about _everything_ , and it’s not what drove us apart.” He laughs again, and there’s a wild edge to it. “I always thought that’d be the deal-breaker.” He knocks his drink back. “Shows how much I know. It was time, distance.”

“I love you. I’ll love you _forever_ ,” Shinichi says, drawing out the word.

“Sure. I love you. And you’ll love me,” Kid says. “Until you wake up sober tomorrow.” He sighs. “It’s a nice illusion. I’m good at those,” he says, and laughs.

“I will,” Shinichi insists stubbornly. “I’ll be your best best friend,” he looks at Kid with wide eyes. He has to make him understand.

Kid laughs again, and this time it’s a little less heavy. “I’m sure you will.” He folds left hand over Shinichi’s. “I have a life here, and you have one in Tokyo. I guess what I’m trying to say is you’ll leave.”

“I’ll stay,” Shinichi promises.

“You say that now…” As if to distract himself, Kid picks up the microphone, queues up something by Queen. The words and music wash over Shinichi. “ _…I’ve been wandering round / But I still come back to you / In rain or shine…_ ”

Shinichi sits and lets Kid’s beautiful voice cascade around him, nursing his drinks, hovering on that knife’s-edge between buzzed and _gone_. It’s a delicate balance. He cycles through a few more songs, still by Queen, before he pushes the microphone in Shinichi’s hand. “Come on, you can’t let me sing all alone.”

“I doubt they have any Two-mix,” Shinichi says, but flips through the catalogue in a haze. He accidentally presses the button, but before  he can drop it, there are already words forming across the screen.

“ _…Take these broken wings / And learn to fly again / Learn to live so free…_ ” And he’s off-key as usual, but Kid’s not covering his ears or complaining, just listening to him with a half-smile on his face. It relaxes Shinichi, and soon he’s singing his heart out. “ _…Baby, I think tonight / We can take what was wrong and make it right…”_

He realises that Kid’s singing along with him, hand covering his on the microphone. “ _...Baby, it’s all I know / That you’re half of the flesh / And blood that makes me whole / I need you so…_ ”

The last note lingers as they share space, and Shinichi can’t breathe.

Kid looks at him, and smiles, really smiles, open and honest and true.

Shinichi doesn’t want to let this go.

They hold hands as they leave and head back on the street. It’s truly dark, now, and the moon is large and pale and orange, shining futilely over the bright lights of Las Vegas.

It feels like a dream.

It’s a long walk back to the Kaitou Kid’s casino, and even then it’s mostly quiet, Shinichi’s thoughts heavy even through the haze of alcohol.

The night feels almost over but it’s relatively early, the moon halfway risen. It doesn’t feel like it should be over already, and even now Shinichi can’t think of any way to extend the night.

They head up to Kid’s hotel room, heart sinking bit by bit.

A disappointing dream.

“We didn’t get married,” Shinichi says mournfully as Kid ushers him into the hotel room, closing and locking it behind him.

“No, we didn’t,” Kid says. “And for very good reason. You can still barely walk straight.” He guides him to the bed, sits him down gently.

“We could so pull off a marriage,” Shinichi says as they stare at the rings against the white of the bed sheets.

“You’re very drunk,” Kid says, just as drunk.

“I mean it. It’s not like it’s hard,” Shinichi says, wrapping his arms around Kid.

“I’m not going to marry you while you’re not in your right mind,” Kid says, though his arms settle around Shinichi’s waist.

“Why not?” Shinichi whines into his chest.

Kid lets out a long-suffering sigh, tightening his arms. “Because I don’t wish to take advantage of you, Detective.”

Shinichi sets his jaw. “Haven’t you ever heard of ’ _In vino veritas_?’ I’ve,” he pauses, swallows thickly. “I’ve admired you a long time.” He lets go, looks away. “You’re clever, you’re….” _everything_ , he doesn’t say.

“I’m very flattered,” Kid says, running his fingers down Shinichi’s jawline and gripping his chin, bringing their faces close. “Believe me. But I have no desire to be one of your regrets.”

“How can I regret when you make me feel alive?”

“I am a concept to you right now. An illusion. Mist over the sea and just as fleeting.”

Shinichi feels oddly like he’s being dumped. “But…” And to his chagrin, he feels tears burning in his eyes again.

“Detective,” Kid says, “it’s not a no.” He takes his thumb, wipes away Shinichi’s tears, runs his hand down Shinichi’s arm, light and teasing, and links their fingers together, rings touching. “It’s a promise. I’ll be waiting for you. When you’re ready.”

Then he leans in and kisses him. Just a press of lips at first, but when Shinichi licks at his lower lip, Kid opens his mouth, lets Shinichi map the contours, sucks hard on his tongue in a mimicry of something else. Shinichi mewls, cants his hips, and Kid lets out a strangled sound as they brush together.

Kid pulls away, hand covering his mouth and Shinichi is dazed and breathless and flushing. “All I’m willing to take, and even then, nearly too much. Sleep on it, love.”

“It’s hot,” Shinichi complains, tugging at his tie. Kid obliges him by unknotting it in what looks like a single motion. He drapes it over the headboard.

His waistcoat is next, white hands stark against the pale blue silk, peeling it off him. Then evening shirt, each button undone slowly, methodically. Shinichi can’t breathe, far, far too hot, but Kid’s hands are brands, and they tremble as they touch his bare skin.

Kid skips the rest, though his hands linger at Shinichi’s waist and undo the button and zipper there. He slides down his body, taking off one sock, one shoe at a time. Every touch lingers, almost as if Kid doesn’t want to leave. It’s torture.

Kid folds his clothes up neatly, but Shinichi is still too hot, so the trousers and the rest come off.

Stunned, Kid can’t look away. His eyes trace the distance of Shinichi’s body, lingering there too. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, holds it for a long moment, and breathes out slowly. He folds those, too. Then he pulls the sheets over Shinichi, tucking him in.

The soft cotton sheets feel like cool water against his burning skin, and he snuggles deep underneath them, drowsy now that he’s cooled down a little bit.

Kid disappears for a moment, coming back shirtless in a pair of low-slung black pyjama bottoms that accentuate every line of his body. He places a change of clothing on Shinichi’s side, then he lays down beside him on top of the covers, kisses the curve of Shinichi’s cheek, pulls him back against his chest, tucks him underneath his chin and into his arms.

“Sleep,” he says.

And Shinichi does.

-

Shinichi wakes up with a pounding headache and a mouth that tastes of bile. He opens his eyes, and the afternoon light is too much coming in from the window, so he closes them, nuzzling against the warm spot next to him.

Wait. Warmth? He opens his eyes again, blinking back against the sun, and sure enough, it looks slept in, like the spot was only vacated moments before Shinichi woke up. He yelps looking around for the person, and scrambles out of bed, sheets twisting around him. They catch his legs, and he falls out of bed with a thump, hitting his head against the floor. He doesn’t recognize the room. It looks like a hotel room, but Shinichi’s isn’t this classy. No, it looks like a penthouse suite. The bed is a king, and with a dawning sensation of horror, Shinichi realizes he’s naked. He scrambles to his feet and wraps the sheet around himself. It has to be at least a thousand thread count, it’s so soft and smooth. It feels like water on his skin.

There’s a envelope on the nightstand, and next to it, a red rose. Shinichi’s hands are trembling as he picks it up. It doesn’t say anything. He flips it over to find it sealed.

He doesn’t remember anything last night after ducking out of the rain and into a casino’s bar. He remembers drinking, but perhaps not so much as he must have.

A shining glint of gold catches his eye. Shinichi looks down at his hand in horror. The only thing he is wearing is a gold band. He didn't—!

But it is Vegas, where you can get a marriage license filed in less than two hours, and he is hungover and in an unfamiliar room. His stomach churns.

It looks lived in for a hotel room. Though ornately decorated, it’s filled with clothes and starry boxes, knotted scarves and top hats and suits. A large cage sits in the corner with six doves inside. A magician’s room. It’s easy enough to deduce.

He turns the card over, breaks the red wax seal with his thumb, pulls out a white card.

 

 

 

_A promise kept; I’ll_

_be waiting for you. When you_

_are ready, call me~♡_

_~~~_

_x-xxx-xxx-1412_

♥

And below, a number and a doodle of Kaitou Kid with a little heart.

Shinichi stares at the card for some time.

His stomach is doing something funny. Not churning anymore, but butterflies?

Kaitou Kid stopped his heists four years ago, right before Shinichi went into the academy. Shinichi hadn’t ever attended them as himself. It hadn’t been long after Haibara had synthesized the antidote they’d stopped. He’d never really had a chance to go, and had felt…robbed.

Kid was good at that.

He looks around the room in a new light. It’s Kid’s. He knows it’s true the same way he knows the sun rises.

The sharp, clean lines of kana, the curve of the grinning face. There’s no question. It’s Kid. Kid and a rose and a card by his bedside.

Well, not his bedside. Kid’s.

He got drunk and ended up in Kid’s bed.

Well.

He can probably assume the ring is Kid’s, too.

Hysteria bubbles up inside him, and he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He’s here, after all these years, after his retirement, after the disappearance of the last jewel he never returned. For him to have the suite, he must work here, at least for a few days if he’s on tour, and it contains all the trappings a magician might need.

Shinichi had honestly never expected to hear from him again. What happened? Just what had he done last night, he wonders, looking at his hand. The ring sits on his finger, innocuous. Deadly in its implication. Shinichi moves experimentally. He’s not sore in the places he expects. He doesn’t think anything of _that nature_ happened. Kid wouldn’t take advantage.

And then he’s wondering if Kid _knows_. It’s not like anyone but his friends and family know about Conan, and Kid doesn’t seem the type to let a complete stranger in his bed.

Or maybe he is. It’s not like he really knows the kind of man he is behind the monocle. He can only guess.

He bites his lip. Off-duty and on vacation or not, he’s still a member of law enforcement. Kid took a real chance leaving him here with free access to his things. Giving Shinichi proof. Three years remain on the statute of limitations for the object of his last heist, and if Shinichi recalled the case file, the owner was all too willing to press charges.

There’s a change of clothes next to his folded semi-formal wear; a black long-sleeved shirt and blue jeans and underclothing with his badge and wallet and pin on top. They’re clean, and they fit him like they were made for him.

Shinichi’s not too sure how he feels about that.

Also a pair of expensive cufflinks and a tie clip. They’re not his; at least he doesn’t think they’re his. But something about them sparks familiarity, so he pockets them. A gift from Kid, maybe?

He turns on his phone, and it starts vibrating incessantly from all the notifications. He pages through a few of them, mostly missed messages and calls, and his heart sinks as he sees Ran’s name and is reminded of what exactly made him get blackout drunk.

He’d completely forgotten. He laughs, half-surprised, and it’s clear and bright and not bitter. He remembers that being somewhat of the point. He just didn’t care anymore.

He glances down at the ring on his finger and at the card and the rose. The ring refracts the light with flecks of blue sapphire, and Shinichi can’t help but be reminded of the engagement ring he bought so long ago. He can’t help but notice both it and the ring box are missing, and there’s no doubt in his mind where it went. He doesn’t think Kid stole it. No, Kid likes spectacle, would have referenced it in his note. The shape of last night is starting to take form.

A card and a rose and a pair of rings exchanged.

It’s not the end of the world.

Shinichi collapses back on the bed, putting his head in his hands. “Why is this my life?” he says, voice muffled, and then he’s laughing as a giddy feeling wells up from deep inside of him. He’ll call Ran later and explain all this somehow. He’ll have to think of something. He doesn’t even know how to explain it to himself.

He brings up the dialer on his phone, puts the number in his contact list. He hesitates just a moment before pressing the phone icon. If nothing else, he wants to know exactly what happened last night.

It rings twice before someone picks up.

“Hello?” Shinichi says.

“Detective,” says a familiar lilting, teasing voice. “Hello.”


	2. [Diamonds]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nights of drunken revelry have their consequences. This is theirs.
> 
> _or,_ the morning after  & the relationship negotiation.

 

Kaito wakes, as per his usual these days, with a heavy weight on his chest. For the first time in a long time, however, it’s without scarlet-rimmed nightmares. His head throbs; not quite a headache, but a clear sign of overindulgence. He’s not quite sure what woke him, but as his mind clears from its sleep-induced haze, he finds a warm body tucked underneath his chin. He freezes, tensing up. Who in the world…?

Kaito prefers to be in full control of his facilities. Alcohol kills fine motor movements and lowers inhibitions, so inebriation is something he actively avoids. But Kaito drank a lot last night. _A lot._ He’s got the hangover to prove it. It’s not like him.

Proof of which is he actually brought someone home. Usually he’s the one stealing out of bed before the other party can wake up. And he never lets them see him in the dark. Kaito doesn’t bring people home, let people into his sanctuary. Not anymore. Not after…well.

And by the way the covers dip down, the way Kaito’s hand resting on the curve of his hip nearly touches bare skin—

Kaito lifts the sheet, curious. Yeah, he’s naked under there. He swallows, then pulls the sheet up to the man’s chest. The only thing that gives him a measure of relief is that Kaito himself is somewhat clothed.

But this man looks familiar, from his messy fringe to his long, dark eyelashes. He touches his hair hesitantly, runs his hand down the sides of his face, tracing the shape of it. He’s fey-like and unreal, handsome in a way that leaves Kaito breathless.

Kaito’s still waking up, warm and languid and drowsy, and it takes him a moment to realize exactly what’s going on.

His heart jumps into this throat as the events of last night hit him in a rush of memory, all at once. He doesn’t fling himself from the bed, but it’s a very near thing.

It almost feels like he’s still dreaming. Kaito is familiar with magic, oh yes, too familiar, but the kind that can make a man change into a little boy and back again is beyond his experience.

Edogawa Conan has always been a study in contradictions. Young, but sharper than any adult he’s ever met. He was an impossibility, once, and as he looks down on the man in his arms, Kaito decides he still is. Highly intelligent. A worthy rival. And then, one day, gone, his existence fragile as glass. Kaito had done some cursory looking into public record, including obituaries considering everything the boy got up to, but he hadn’t found anything. As heist after heist passed, and the little detective hadn’t appeared, he’d let him slip from his mind, nothing more than the occasional passing thought, if that.  

And then it was over, and Kaito was left bereft of the purpose he’d had for so long, and then it didn’t matter much anymore. Nothing did.

It’s been a long time since then. Time enough to drift, to lose touch with everyone, save Jii and Aoko and his mother. And even those connections are tenuous.

Jii’s currently in the hospital with pneumonia. They still talk frequently, but it almost hurts, speaking with him. Jii-chan, once ageless, carries a frailty in his form and voice that scares Kaito more than he’d like to admit. Kaito misses Jii fiercely. Spry as Jii still is, he’s feeling his age more than ever. He won’t be around much longer. The thought makes his heart clench. Time is getting away from all of them, and even at his height, he couldn’t steal it back. Kaito’s too young to feel so old, to be losing people already. And it will only get worse as time goes on.

His mother flies in sometimes, and he and Aoko talk almost every day, but he doesn’t have anyone here. Not really. Acquaintances, people he appreciates, people who appreciate him, but no one who really knows who he is. Not anymore. Ask, and people would say Kuroba Kaito, the world-class magician and performer, a _celebrity._ A mask so thoroughly worn it has become his face.

Not him at all, not really. Not even close. Heh. He laughs a little, at himself. He’s always been a great joke.  But this, he thinks, as he touches the man’s chin, runs his thumb softly over his lips, is not funny. He wants to lean down and capture those lips, knowing the sweetness behind them, but he refrains. He pulls away after a moment, certain that this falls under unwanted, considering how well they really know one another.

But oh, Kaito wants to know him better. He looks at his hand, the one with the rings, resting against the spread, cupping the man’s hip through the covers. A spark of excitement, low in his gut, fills him with butterflies. An ember of anticipation he tries hard to douse because he knows it usually leads to disappointment. It’s the kind of feeling that once carried him through heists, the kind he hasn’t felt since he stopped.

Not even once.

He buries his face in his little detective’s hair, momentarily overwhelmed by the strength of it, grinning. This feels like a beginning, like the start of something new and exciting.

Kaito can’t wait.

He stays in bed probably longer than he should, letting the sun hit its zenith, just enjoying the feeling of having someone in his arms, rubbing soft circles on shoulder.  He glances over at the police badge, very tempted to read the name held within.

But something about that feels wrong, and Kaito’s hand moves up, touching his own lips, remembering the warmth of a fingertip. Like a violation of some unspoken agreement they both share. Kaito will let him decide when to tell him his name. Let him decide everything. And if that’s never, then so be it.

Maybe it’s a bit mad, but well, Kaito doesn’t think he’s at all sane anymore. There are some things a person can’t go through without changing irrevocably.

The figure in his arms starts to shift, perilously close to waking up. So he forces himself out of bed to avoid the temptation to stay, writes a quick note, pulls a rose from his ample stock and places it just so. It’s sappy, probably, and overdone, but Kaito can’t bring himself to care.

He dresses in a nice shirt combo unbuttoned over jeans, heads down to the casino bar. It’s closed, but Sergei lets him in anyway, like always. Several of the bar’s employees wave and talk to him for a moment, and he obliges, but he’s looking for one person.

Zara Chandrasekhar is in the back, preparing for her shift with a pinched look on her face, arms elbow deep in water, washing the glasses.

“Hi,” Kaito says right behind her, one hand in his pocket.

“Ahh, you idiot!” she says, jumping, splashing water all over herself. She thumps a wet fist into his chest.

He holds up his hands, palms out. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me, you dumb,” she throws the rag in the sink. “Running off with hot dude with your tab still open and drunk out of your mind. What were you thinking? I was worried! I shouldn’t have let either one of you get that drunk. I don’t know what I was thinking!”

“Oh, is that what this is about?” Kaito asks innocently. “But I came to close my tab. And his.” With a puff of smoke for flourish (it _is_ all about the show, after all), he pulls out his bank card.

“Yeah yeah, that’s what I thought. You weren’t thinking, either.” Kaito grins, holding the plastic out to her. She waves him off. “You’re always good about it, no big deal. I’ll get it from you later. What I want to know is was he any good?”

“What?” Kaito asks, taken aback.

“You know, in bed? I’m serious. Dish! You took him home, right?” She stares at him, expectant.

Kaito blushes, scratches at his cheek, looking away. It’s not as if the thought hadn’t crossed his mind, but he was drunk and, “Ah, well—”

“Let me guess, it’s complicated?” she says with a huff.

“Kind of? He was very drunk and very naked. I thought it was pertinent not to mix the two.”

“Hot willing guy in your bed.” Zara says, shaking her head. “It’s easy to tell you have a history. Which I want to know about later, by the way. Would it really have been so bad? He was all over you.”

“You ah, don’t understand. First, he couldn’t consent. Secondly, if he was sober, he absolutely wouldn’t want to have anything to do with me—”

His mobile phone rings, startling them both. He doesn’t recognize the number, and since not many people have it, it can only be one person.

“It’s him?” Zara asks. Kaito nods. “Pick it up, pick it up!” she urges.

Kaito tries to answer it, but in his haste he fumbles the phone, nearly dropping it to the floor as it bounces from hand-to-hand. By the second ring he manages to answer it, Zara saying “Put it on speaker!”

Uh, no. Definitely not. He swats at her as she tries to grab his phone.

He reaches down inside himself, pulling for his “show” voice. He has a hard time finding it, having not expected him to call so soon. Before he can speak, the little detective does.

“Hello?” The voice is tentative, unsure _._ Nothing like the confident young voice he’d come to know last night.

“Detective, hello,” Kaito says, biting his lip, certain the other man can pick up on his nervousness. He is a detective, after all.

“Detective?” Zara says, raising an eyebrow, ignoring her dishes entirely. “Interesting pet name.”

‘Shut up,’ Kaito mouths back. He sticks his tongue out at her just to spite her. “I must confess, I didn’t think you call so soon,” Kaito says, and he can’t hide the warmth in his voice no matter how hard he tries. Zara rolls her eyes.

“Um,” the detective says. He sounds a little taken aback, probably because of his tone. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“Oh believe me,” Kaito practically purrs. “It was my pleasure.” Then he winces. So much for not coming on too strong.

A nervous laugh. “Yeah.”

Long awkward silence.

“Do you want to get lunch?” Kaito says, and the words explode out from him in a rush in his hurry to break the silence.

“Yes,” is the reply, and it’s a bit more strident, a bit more sure. “I’d love to.” His tongue lingers on the word love. He’s flirting. Flirting is good, right?

“The hotel restaurant isn’t bad,” Kaito offers, “but there’s a diner a little down the road I find more filling, if you like that sort of thing.”

“That sounds great,” the detective says. It sounds like he really means it.

“Meet you in the lobby?” Kaito says, trying not to sound too eager.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, and one more thing: may I ask you for your name?” Kaito asks, crossing his fingers.

“You don’t know?” the detective is surprised. Curious.

“Well, I could call you Conan, but you told me yourself you hated him, rather.”

“I did?” he says, confused. Because that sounds promising. Kaito frowns. Something is wrong. “I didn’t tell you my name?” he sounds wary now, all the warmth gone from earlier.

“To be fair, I didn’t ask,” Kaito says.

“Huh. So all this time you thought I was…?” he trails off.

“No.” He switches language for privacy. He doesn’t want questions, even from someone as friendly as Zara. “You told me the truth. It is a blow to one’s ego, getting constantly outmaneuvered by a six year old. Finding out you were actually sixteen at the time does take the sting out a bit.”

“Right,” he says faintly. “Right,” he repeats.

“I didn’t want to press,” Kaito offers.

“Oh.” he says. “It’s Shinichi.”

“Shinichi?” Kaito says. The name sounds vaguely familiar. “No last name?”

“You don’t,” he begins, then licks his lips and thinks better of it. “Not right now,” Shinichi says.  “Please?”

“Shinichi, then,” Kaito says. “I can do that.” And then, “Do you want mine?”

“I didn’t get it last night?” Shinichi asks.

Something in Kaito’s stomach sours as a dark suspicion grows, dulling his excitement.

“You said there was a certain time and place for it, if you catch my meaning,” Kaito says. “Though you did hear it, you made a point not to remember it, hence my question.”

“Right.” A deep breath. “Are you really—”

Kaito hmms. “I am. Or was, to be more precise.” Though he _is_. That much of him hasn’t changed. It’s only hidden. The phantom thief is still much a part of him these days; he doesn’t think he can ever let it go. But he doesn’t plan on returning to active thievery.

He waves to Zara and gives her a thumb up. She shakes her head, saying, “If he was sober, he wouldn’t want anything to do with me,’ Yeah, right. Go and get ‘em.”

Kaito gives her a good showing of his middle finger as she rolls her eyes again, ducking out of the bar and back to the lobby as he speaks.

There’s another long silence from Shinichi’s side.

“Is that a deal breaker?” Kaito says, then he smiles warmly at his favorite concierge, who smiles just as warmly back, and leans against the wall next to the front desk, one hand in his pocket.

Another deep breath. “No, it’s not.”

Kaito closes his eyes in relief. “Ah, well. I thought it might be, considering. I’d say you weren’t capable of rational thought last night, but that’s a lie. Rational thought, yes. Boundaries and informed decisions, no.” Kaito laughs. “Such a fascinating dichotomy. You’re quite the curious creature, Shinichi.” He tastes his name like fine wine, letting it linger on his lips.

An audible swallow and a nervous laugh in response. “Where are you?” he hears over the line. Kaito looks up; the elevator door opens and there he stands, still on his phone, looking as perfect in those clothes as Kaito thought he would, scanning the room.

He looks different without his glasses. He’s thicker boned and longer limbed. But those eyes are the same, hard and piercing, a perfect match to that sharp mind. Kaito throws up a hand, and Shinichi’s eyes zero in on him. He hangs up, slipping the phone into his pocket, and heads his way. His walk is confident, controlled, powerful. Kaito saw shades of this last night, but it was hidden by drunken stumbling.

Kaito pushes off the wall, kicking the toe of his Converse against the ground. “So, considering rescinding your marriage proposal now that you're sober?” he says with a cheeky grin that belies the way he feels, holding out the back of his hand so Shinichi can see the engagement ring and wedding band. I won’t hold it against you.” He thinks about what he said for a second, then tilts his head. “Not without your permission, anyway.” Inside, he’s nervous, though he acts glib. He hasn’t felt this way in long time; normally he can channel it into his act or let it out some other way, but it’s crawling. Things that seem fine in the night can show their flaws in the sunlight, and he wonders what Shinichi sees when he looks at him.

Shinichi’s eyes widen minutely. “Haven’t figured that out yet,” he says. There’s a faint blush on his face, and he glances down at his hand with the ring.

Kaito grabs it, links their fingers together, leading them out of the hotel and casino, but not before acknowledging a few people he knows. Shinichi doesn’t protest their linked hands, instead giving his hand a gentle squeeze back. Kaito glows. Good sign. “Well, then I’d best be on my best behavior, hadn’t I? Kaito says.

That surprises a laugh out of Shinichi. “You? Behave? Is that even in your vocabulary?”

“I’ll have you know I’m very good at behaving.” Shinichi gives him a look. “When I want to,” Kaito acknowledges the need for a qualifier.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he says.

“Then I’ll just have to help you see it, won’t I?”

They reach the diner quickly, it being only a few blocks away.

It’s half-filled with patrons. Without waiting to be seated, Kaito slides into a cherry-red vinyl booth like he owns the place, sprawling out, sitting on it like it’s a throne and he’s the king. The server comes by and he greets them by name without looking and he orders himself a big breakfast, turkey bacon and potatoes O’Brien and eggs over easy and pancakes and coffee and water with lemon. He’s used to heavier breakfasts these days. He needs the energy.

Shinichi stares at him as he finishes his order, looking a little overwhelmed.

“You can get what you want. It’s on me,” Kaito says, playing with the salt shaker.

“You shouldn’t feel you have to,” Shinichi says, still with that uncertain expression on his face.

“I don’t have to,” Kaito says. “I want to.”

There’s that endearing blush again, but he orders a slice of lemon pie a la mode, with homemade vanilla ice cream, and water.

Kaito tucks his choice away in memory. “‘In the fashionable way,’ huh?” he says. “Interesting.”

“That’s what you choose to comment on? Not that I got dessert for brunch?” he taps his fingers on the table.

“Why would I? You’re an adult now and completely aware of the consequences of your actions.” Kaito smirks. “Besides, consider who you’re talking to.”

“How could I forget?” Shinichi says, and there’s very something like hysteria bubbling inside his voice as he adjusts his napkin and silverware.

Kaito doesn’t like it. Doesn’t like that he put it there. Though he’s been enjoying their conversation so far, perhaps it hasn’t been the same for Shinichi. He decides to be direct. “Hey, you, uh,” Kaito’s voice falters. Shinichi looks up. “You don’t—” he licks his lips. Shinichi’s eyes flicker down. Kaito clears his throat. “You don’t remember anything about last night, do you.”  It’s not a question.

Shinichi tries, thinking hard. “Warmth,” he says. “Flickers of conversation.”

“Oh,” Kaito says again. How could he forget? Very easily, it seems.

Another long awkward silence hangs between them. Kaito hopes this isn’t a sign of how they’ll interact in the future. He was looking forward to getting to know him properly.

“We didn’t do anything, did we?” Shinichi asks, and there’s a fierce look on his face. He doesn’t know what that means. Kaito could study that face for a thousand years and never get anything more than a superficial meaning out of it.

It’s intense, but as Shinichi's cheeks begin to burn, Kaito gets what he’s trying to say. “For all that you were undressed and trying to undress me, no, we did not. Though I must say, you’re an adept kisser for a drunk.”

Shinichi puts his face in his hands and groans.

“You really don’t remember anything?” Kaito says again, and it hurts. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised. He knows better than to get his hopes up. Hope is a foolish, misleading thing, and it always has been.

“No, not really,” Shinichi says.

Of course. Lady Luck abandoned Kaito long ago. “Ah, well. That’s generally how my life goes, these days.”

The server places their drinks in front of them, and Kaito takes a long sip of water to gather his thoughts.

Shinichi is studying him. Kaito wonders what he sees. If he sees the same kinship in him Kaito saw in Shinichi last night, even without the memory.

“I suppose this outing was merely product of your insatiable curiosity then?” Kaito muses out loud. Before Shinichi can answer, he adds, “To think, I revealed myself for no reason, hmmm.” Looking back, it was a gross miscalculation.

Shinichi is still studying him in silence. “Will you tell me what happened?” Shinichi asks finally. “I didn’t do anything that would…” he trails off.

Of course. A detective’s need to know. That explains his presence. “Nothing regrettable, not to me at least.” Kaito taps his fingers on the table. “You deserve to know. I am happy to oblige. Let’s see here:

“I had two matinées, but no evening show yesterday. It’s the closest I get to an off-day. I like going to the hotel bar for a quick pick-me-up after work. I wasn’t planning on staying long, but I saw you. I’m friends with the barman, you see, and she pointed you out to me as someone who’d had more than enough.”

“Really?” he says, looking distinctly uncomfortable. He must remember that much, then. Kaito doesn’t think he’s ever seen him so tentative. How a decade changes people.

“Mmhmm. And you looked miserable. You were already drunk, and I was just going to distract you, see if I could get you to cut back a little bit, so I took your drink. I was going to replace it with water,” Kaito smiles. He didn’t even get that chance. Shinichi’s quick in more ways than one.

“I don’t get it. Where are you going with this?” He takes a drink. Kaito’s gaze lingers as Shinichi’s lips wrap around the straw.

“You called me a thief, told me you had a 'Kid-sense’ and traded a six hundred thousand yen ring for a six hundred yen drink. I think you thought I was after it. You kept trying to get your drink back.”

“I did not,” Shinichi says, shifting. “Are you serious?” he says, leaning forward.

“You did. Gave me the ring on one knee,” Kaito says with a laugh. “So proud of yourself for figuring it out.” It happened just yesterday, but it has already become a fond memory. Granted, he’d been embarrassed at the time, but it _had_ been hilarious in hindsight. “Said stealing your drink was proof I was Kaitou Kid.”

“And you believed that I knew then?” He sounds skeptical.

Kaito shoots Shinichi a look. “Of course I didn’t! What do you take me for? No, you went on to say some things only the two of us would know.”

“Oh.”

“That’s when I started to think there was truth to what you were saying. I kept plying you for information; you didn’t tell me much—you have exceptional skill to slither out of an interrogation, by the way, even while drunk—but it was enough to confirm. And you kept touching me. Wouldn’t keep your hands off me, as a matter of fact. I thought you were some kind of police plant at first, to get a confession, but then you told me about Mōri-san’s nuptials, and I figured your sorrow was genuine.”

Shinichi’s really red now, with a disgruntled expression on his face. It’s adorable. “But you didn’t really accept the 'proposal?’ as it were?”

“Oh, I did. That came later when we were both drunk beyond belief. We somehow concluded we were engaged, not married, and you wished to correct that right away. So we bought wedding bands.” Kaito looks down at his hand. The blue gems sparkle in the soft afternoon light coming in through the window. “I think we might have actually gone through with it, had I not come to my senses just a bit.” He laughs. “Imagine this discussion then!”

“I’m trying not to,” Shinichi says, but he’s smiling, looking at Kaito with an expression that Kaito can’t place. “And you believed me?” Shinichi says, “about Conan, just like that?”

Kaito laughs. “Just like that. It’s hardly comparable to the bizarre things I’ve seen.” He deliberately doesn’t think of that last heist, of eyes refracting in the dark.

“You’re a very singular individual.” Another drink.

“So people often tell me.”

“Why did you agree?” Shinichi asks, gesturing to the hand with the ring.

“Ah, but that is personal, I’m afraid,” Kaito says as their food is set down on the table. He covers his pancakes in syrup.

“Well, we are engaged. Shouldn't I know why?” Shinichi asks, taking a bite of his pie. A bit of the custard clings to his lips, and a slip of pink tongue slides between his lips, licking it up.

Kaito’s mouth goes dry. He takes a deep breath, cuts a corner off his pancake and stuffs it in his mouth to give himself time to answer. He half misses in his haste, and a bit of syrup dribbles down the corner of his mouth. He chews and swallows. “Are we really, considering?” he says noncommittally.

He reaches for a napkin, but Shinichi reaches over the table, runs his thumb down the side of his mouth, gathering the syrup slowly. Kaito shivers, then stills, letting him do it.

Then Shinichi sticks his thumb in his mouth, his lips encircling it as he sucks the syrup off it, finishing with a wet sound, and _oh_ , that’s not fair. He looks up at Kaito through half-lidded eyes. “Yes,” he says, his voice low and rough.

His actions send a sharp pulse of arousal through Kaito, and he lets out a soft noise. “That’s dirty pool!” Kaito complains, but his heart is racing. He tears his gaze away. He would know, though billiards has never been a strength, for all he finds the physics calculations involved abominably easy after half a decade of Kid.

Maybe Shinichi will be honest with him, should he ask. Kaito is willing to give him a chance. If a drunken Shinichi can understand, maybe a sober one can, too. “Take a look at me and tell me honestly: what do you see?”

Keen eyes turn on him, searching. Kaito feels naked and pinned under that much focus, and the small spark of arousal grows, turning molten. He shifts in his seat.

“Just a man,” Shinichi says after a long time.

“Come on, Detective. I know you’ve deduced more than that.”

“A tired one, what with the bags under your eyes. Very well off; that’s an expensive watch, and you wear designer clothes, but I don’t really need that to tell me, not when I’ve seen your living space. It’s an executive suite, and well-lived in, which means you have a high paying, high profile job, enough so the room is near permanent. Even if I didn’t know you were a magician, your room would have told me, what with the doves and other magician-related paraphernalia; you also have a Merlin Award knocked over on the floor and half-buried under a pile of discarded tricks in an otherwise organised room, if a little cluttered. That’s very telling.” Another bite. Kaito watches the lines of his throat as he chews, then swallows, and very nearly lets out a whimper.

“Is it?” Kaito didn’t realize he’d seen the Merlin. He doesn’t want to think about the Merlin

“It is.” Shinichi nods. “One, even though the Merlin not as regulated as other performance awards, the standards are subjective and not rigorous, it’s still prestigious in the community. But you don’t care. It’s just a paperweight to you. Less than that; you don’t even want to see it, burying it under worn out props. Given the casino’s propensity for magical acts, coupled with the award, I dare say you’re their headline act.” That he states with certainty. “Famous. That’s corroborated by the way even people you don’t acknowledge watch you.”

“Hmm.” It’s true enough.

“But it seems you know everyone; you greet them all by name, from the concierge to the server, and you’re exceptionally friendly, but there’s a polite distance. And it’s not the fact that you’re a celebrity, though I am sure that plays a part of it. Something is missing.”

“Oh?” Kaito asks.

“If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say it was connection. You don’t feel like they see you, the real you, if there even is a real you. You don’t know. Not anymore. Extrapolating from that, I’d say you’re probably intrigued by finding a piece of your past in an unexpected place. And you miss parts of your old life, what used to be. Enough so that you’re willing to take a chance on someone with uncertain motives to regain that connection. Because they know the important things that might put a barrier between anyone new.”

There’s more to it, but that’s impressive. Kaito whistles. “Are you sure you don’t remember?” Kaito says. Then he thinks about it. It really is a guess. There’s no way he could have deduced that. It’s a series of leading statements, a common trick used by magicians, mediums, and mavericks alike. Inductive reasoning instead of deductive reasoning, multiple postulates leading to one specific conclusion. “No, wait. Is that how _you_ really feel?”

Shinichi looks away, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Ha! It is!” Kaito crows.

“You don’t have to be so happy about it,” he complains.

“What more do you want me to say, Shinichi?” Kaito says, attempting to soothe his wounded pride. “You _are_ right. Oh, the typical tale, I suppose. It’s quite pretty in the narrative sense, and very neatly wrapped; the rising star, on top of the world, has everything they ever wanted; money, power, people to warm their bed,” he lets his heated look linger on Shinichi, the blush comes back, “but they are jaded, gilded, untouchable until their eventual fall. And make no mistake; my time will come. The very definition of tragedy: to have all this and still want. It’s felled stronger people than I.

“Tell me, Detective: what happens to dreams when they die?”

“You find new ones,” Shinichi says.

Kaito shakes his head. “It’s not that simple. Not for everyone. Where do dead dreams go?”

“Nowhere, because they’re metaphysical concepts. They aren't born, and so they can’t die.”

Kaito gives him a flat look. “Spoilsport. Whether by completing them or letting them go, what happens?”

“You move on,” Shinichi says.

“But isn’t there always that little part of you that still yearns? For something more, better than what you have now? For those little wishes you’ve held close to your heart?”

“We always want what we can never have,” Shinichi says, avoiding the question. It’s rather personal, and Kaito already knows. He hasn’t forgotten just why Shinichi was drinking. That was his point, rather.

“Exactly,” Kaito agrees. “A dream is just another word for hope. What happens when that hope is gone?”

Shinichi is silent for a long time, nothing but the sound of the diner and the clacking and scrape of forks on plates.

So Kaito continues. “Hope is a very curious thing. Perhaps it is a conceit to frame it this way, but life is a river, and hope is the flow; take that away, dam the hope, and what does the river become?”

“Stagnant. Bogged down. Filthy,” Shinichi says.

“Precisely. So say something breaks that down, a random encounter with an old rival, perhaps. What happens?”

“Hope begins to flow again, and life becomes clear. At least in this metaphor,” Shinichi says. Then he grins. “A simple ‘I was lonely’ would have sufficed.”

Kaito huffs. “Sometimes it’s about the journey, not the destination. Hope means something very special to me, you see.” Oh yes, something dear indeed, for all he doesn’t like to think about that, either.

“Enough to hedge your bets?”

“Oh no, this is Las Vegas: it’s double or nothing. If you’re going to take a risky gamble, you might as well do it properly and leave it all to lady luck. Maybe you’ll hit the jackpot, maybe you’ll go home empty-handed. Either way, it makes for a fantastic game.”

“It’s not luck. It’s probability.”

Kaito waves his hands dismissively. “Details.”

“Have you ever done anything without calculating risk-return?” Shinichi asks, giving him a skeptical look.

Kaito laughs. “I always make it up as I go.”

Shinichi stares at him.

“What? It’s true!”

“That… actually explains a lot,” Shinichi says, contemplative. Kaito gives him his most charming grin.

“So why didn’t you just leave when you awoke?” Kaito asks, turning the difficult questions on him. “Not remembering anything must have been disconcerting. Was it just a detective’s curiosity?”

Now it’s Shinichi’s turn to look uncomfortable. “Not quite.”

“Did you want me to return this?” Kaito says, sounding more glib than he feels, slipping the engagement ring off.

“No!” Shinichi says. Then a look of disbelief, as if he can’t believe his denial is so vehement.

Kaito is a little taken aback, but oddly touched “All right, all right.” He moves to slip the ring back on, but before he can, Shinichi is there, his grip just as firm as last night. Shinichi slides the ring on gently, though, and his touch lingers, burning like a brand.

“Let’s get married,” Shinichi says abruptly, out of nowhere. “I’ll move here.”

“What?” Kaito blinks. He doesn’t remember anything about last night. So why…? “I can’t have recommended myself to you.”

Shinichi smiles, enigmatic. “Maybe it’s my turn to make it up as I go along.”

Kaito is uncertain. “Your detective work? You have a career in Japan.” And homicide investigation is not exactly theft, so surely it can’t be a choice between Kaito or his career. It’s such a long way, and for all their shared past, they don’t know each other. Not really. Not yet.

“It pays the bills,” Shinichi says noncommittally. There’s a whole world of things unsaid in that sentence. Kaito wonders if it is because the cases he solves have become stale, like Kaito’s joy of magic has become stale.

No. He can’t picture a world where that’s the reason. He’s been on enough of his cases to know Shinichi genuinely cares. So why…oh right. The reason Shinichi was even drinking in the first place. Kaito bets it has something to do with Mōri-san. “Your feelings as it were?”

To Shinichi’s credit, he doesn’t try to blow him off, or make excuses. “Marriages are built on less,” he says. “In the end, isn’t it just a partnership?”

“True enough,” Kaito says. Then he follows Shinichi’s example and simply asks, “Why?”

Shinichi hesitates. “You didn’t have to be so open with me. It’s a lot of trust. Too much. I could have turned you in.”

“But you didn’t,” Kaito says.

“But I didn’t,” Shinichi agrees.

“You still could,” Kaito says. And at this point, he’d probably go with him willingly. Kaito’s _done_ at this point, done with everything. If not for the aspersions it would cast on the former Inspector and his daughter, he might have already done it himself anyway. He’s just done. Maybe tired is a better word.

A shadow falls over Shinichi’s face. He puts his hands together, leaning forward over the table, hands against his mouth and nose. He lets out a deep sigh, then lets his hands fall. “I could.”

Their eyes meet. “But there’s no logical reason to.”

“No?” Kaito tilts his head.

Shinichi looks away. ”You’re harmless.”

“Harmless, huh? I feel like I should be offended,” Kaito says.

“Mostly harmless,” Shinichi amends.

“Well, I certainly feel better now that you’ve clarified,” Kaito says, amused.

“You had no idea who I was when you tried to help me yesterday. You didn’t want anything in return. You just wanted to help.”

“I could be lying.”

“You’re not.”

“You sound so sure.”

“I am.”

“Well,” Kaito says. “Well. You certainly don’t lack for confidence, but then I knew that already.”

Shinichi twists his lips. “It’s not the first time you’ve helped without wanting anything in return, either. When’s your next show? You said you had a late one today, right?”

“My next show?” Kaito asks, a little thrown by the subject change. “It’s at seven.”

“Perfect. It just hit one thirty. Plenty of time,” Shinichi says.

“Wait. You want to get married right now?” Kaito asks, catching his train of thought.

“Mhmm,” Shinichi says. He takes another bite of his pie, chewing slowly, pensive expression on his face. “As for my work, I can resign and set up here.”

Kaito stares. He’s actually serious. “Shinichi. Are you sure you’ll be happy that way?” It’s an awfully big sacrifice. And a long way from home.

Shinichi ignores his question. “I’ll have to go back for a while to settle some things, but it shouldn't take long.”

“I could always change venues,” Kaito says. It’s not like it would be a hardship, moving back to Tokyo, though it would pay much less. The company he worked with let him know there would always be a place for him.

But Shinichi shakes his head. “I have a great many friends and contacts with American law enforcement, particularly in the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and while I don’t like the way certain things are being handled at the moment, they’d be happy to ease the way, at least. I had dual citizenship until I turned twenty-two; that should ease the way for a visa or permanent resident card, even in this climate.”

“But what about your life there?”

“What life?” Shinichi says automatically, and the words are bitter. His eyes widen as if he’s surprised he just said so much. He grabs his drink, stirs the contents with his straw. Then he inhales and continues. “I have a great many friends. It’s not that I have nothing to leave behind; I _do_ , but at the same time, there’s nothing keeping me there, either. Crime is down by a wide margin. There are people to fill in the gaps should I go. Leaving is not exactly a hardship,” his knuckles are white as he grips the glass.

“Shinichi,” Kaito says, unsure of what to say, but knowing he has to say something. “Shinichi.”

“There’s nothing for me there but bad memories,” Shinichi says. “Reminders of things I can never have. Everywhere I go.”

And Kaito knows that all too well.

He reaches across the table and takes his hand, squeezing it gently before letting it fall. “We’ll build new ones,” Kaito promises. “Let’s do it.”

“You don’t even know me,” Shinichi says, almost as if he hadn’t expected Kaito to agree. Shows what he knows. A gentleman always keeps his word.

“I know enough,” Kaito says. “I know who you were, and I like what I see now. Is that really so hard to believe?”

Shinichi gives him a measured look. “Neither one of us is particularly well-adjusted, are we,” Shinichi says. It’s not a question.

Kaito laughs. “Not as such, no. Is that really so bad?”

“Not as such, no,” Shinichi says. A moment’s pause, and then they both laugh.

“I just want you to be happy,” Kaito says. And it’s true. He sees shades of that free little boy in this world-weary man, but it’s overwhelmed by what could be his own thoughts and feelings, the reason he hasn’t been back to Tokyo since everything ended, the reason he worked himself from the bottom up here. Escaping certain memories. Shinichi is his reflection, a human mirror of his emotions. Having him around won’t change the dissatisfactions of his life, but he might make them easier to bear.

And maybe they can work together for a better future.

“Even after everything, you’re still full of surprises,” Shinichi says.

Kaito pulls out his most charming grin. “I live to keep my audience on their toes.”

“I want to kiss you,” Shinichi says suddenly.

His heart jumps. A loud clatter of dishes makes them both look up. Oh. Kaito had forgotten they were in the diner, but they’re finished here, more or less, plates empty.

And Kaito wants to kiss him back, but this is hardly the place.

He pays, tips fifty percent in cash to his favorite server, and they make their way back into the street.

Vegas in the day is less liminal, Kaito thinks, more real compared to the illusion it guards in the night. The Vegas night doesn’t always keep its promises. He’s seen many people cast out during the day as broken things, seen people lose _everything_ to obsession. As he looks over at the man next to him, he thinks about the ephemeral qualities of his own desires, how _easy_ his rise to fame had been in a world that no longer desired the old-fashioned. Then again, perhaps traditional magic without all the black leather had been out of fashion long enough for him to become sort of a novelty.

Or perhaps it had been hope. He suppresses a shiver.

They’ve barely left the diner before Shinichi pushes Kaito against the wall in the lee of the building, lips capturing his. It’s just as heated, just as burning as last night, except now Kaito is beyond certain that this is exactly what Shinichi wants. So he gives in.

It’s immolation; purification by fire, and Kaito burns gladly, surrounded by his heat, his scent, his taste. His lips are soft, pliant, and his kisses are promises of something more, the way he takes his tongue into his mouth, the way his hands fist in his shirt, the way the tart taste of his sweet dessert lingers on Kaito’s tongue.

“Oh?” he says breathless when Shinichi pulls away, stunned at his own passion. Kaito’s assessment from before that he is a decent kisser is not wrong.

“I could grow used to that,” Shinichi says.

“Grow used to melting kisses? This I doubt,” Kaito says.

Shinichi laughs. “You’re right. I don’t want to.”

By the time they reach the casino again, Kaito's favorite valet already has his car ready and waiting, having seen him leave. Kaito’s lived here long enough they don’t bother with the ticket system anymore. He’s younger than Kaito with an interest in classic cars and music. He tosses Kaito the keys; Kaito hands him twenty, claps him on the shoulder, asks him about his latest song. He goes on about his interests, enthusiastic, and Kaito listens.

When he turns back to Shinichi, it’s to find him watching him, hands in his pockets, that same inscrutable expression on his face.

They get into Kaito’s 1975 Corvette Stingray T-Top, cobalt blue. Shinichi is adorably judgemental about his choice in cars. “American, really?” Kaito pays him no mind; he likes what he likes. The drive isn’t that far, six or so miles, and eventually the conversation moves to other things.  

“You know that ring was Ran’s, right?” Shinichi says.

“I had surmised, yes. Sized for her, I presume.”

“Yes. I can’t believe it fits you.”

He knows what others have said of his hands, and even the thought makes him laugh. They are exactly the way they need to be, nimble and lean and quick and dexterous and pleasing to his eyes. “Sentimental of you to carry it around still,” Kaito says.

“It doesn’t bother you?” Shinichi asks. “That it was hers?”

“No. Does it bother you, Detective?” Kaito asks.

“Not at all,” and there’s that disbelieving tone again. “Shouldn’t it?”

“If it doesn’t, it doesn’t,” Kaito says. “You can’t help how you feel. You can only control what you do with it.” For all that nothing else is, Kaito’s emotions are still his own, and for that he is glad.

They enter the office, wait a bit, talk to the clerk, who happens to be one of his fans, show ID, sign the forms, get the license. The clerk expedites the process with a wink and a quiet congratulations; Kaito’s seen them at more than one show. He signs an autograph for them.

Shinichi looks between the two, considering, the same way he did for the server and the valet. Then he nods to himself, like he’s come to a decision.

They’re really going through with it. There’s still a chance to back out, but this feels good. It feels right. They do talk a little about whether it would be better to marry at the office or at one of the various venues, and decide to have some sort of outside ceremony instead.

That’s when Shinichi finally catches his name on the paperwork in rōmaji as he hands it in. Kaito doesn’t bother to catch his. He will get it in time. “Kaito? Surely you can’t be—”

“The son of Kuroba Tōichi? Yes, he was my father,” Kaito says, having expected that reaction to some extent.

“He was, wasn’t he? A famous magician, too,”  Shinichi says. “That’s not what I meant. Do you have a friend named Nakamori Aoko?”

“Yes,” Kaito says with a frown.

Shinichi can’t hold it in anymore and starts laughing, loud and long and full, just like he did when Kaito was asking nonsensical leading questions last night.

“Shinichi?”

“You _have_ to be the one that Inspector Nakamori talks about,” he manages to get out. “Her magician friend? The popular one in America.” He waves his hand. “Kaito this and Kaito-chan that. Small world.”

Kaito twists his lip. “That sounds like her. Probably coupled with the most embarrassing tales, too,” he can’t hide his fondness. “Kaito-chan? Really?”

“I never put two and two together. I just didn’t think,” he says. “She talks about you a lot.” He bites his lip, holds it in for a moment, snorting, and then laughter bursts out of him.

It’s wonderful to see him laugh like this, especially since Kaito’s mind can’t help but linger on the despondent, broken expression. But then the other part of what he says registers.

“Inspector?” he asks. “Not Assistant Inspector? She’s a proper inspector now?” Awfully young for that much responsibility; the promotion is at least five years too early. Suspiciously early. Not that he doesn’t think she can’t handle it, he _knows_ she can, he’s just curious as to why.

Shinichi stops mid-laugh.  “Yeah, she is.”

“Since when?”

“About a month, maybe?” Shinichi asks.

They talk almost every day, but Aoko hasn’t said anything about it at all. Always hello, how are you, how are things. Empty things in retrospect. She doesn’t talk much about work. Kaito doesn’t blame her, not with the history they have, but this information is harmless. And he wouldn’t use it against her. Even if he did decide to return, he wouldn’t make more trouble for her. That’s one of the reasons he’s stayed away, so she won’t be forced to choose.

He’s a far cry from who he was at seventeen.

And she knows who he is and she’s kept it to herself. He can’t automatically leap to a conclusion. She might have thought it was kinder this way, not telling him.

It’s not. It’s worse. So much worse.

But they talk almost every day. She cares enough to call him and to return his calls. And it’s not like he has any say in her life. She has no reason or need to tell him, no need to justify it. It just hurts. Makes him wonder what else she might not have said.

“Hey.” A hand on his shoulder. “You didn’t know?”

“No, I didn’t.”

The touch turns into a hug as warm arms wrap around Kaito. Shinichi kisses him again, and it doesn't fix the problem, but it does make him feel better, just a little. Kaito presses him against the side of the car, his arms falling to his waist. Then Kaito pulls away and rests his forehead against Shinichi’s.

“What a pair we make, huh?” Shinichi says.

“Two fools in every deck,” Kaito says.

“Wild cards. We can be whatever we want,” Shinichi says.

That’s certainly  true enough, though Kaito has never thought of it that way.

They slide into Kaito’s car. “Do you want to be casual? Or should we stop by your hotel for another change of clothes?”

“I don’t want to go back to my hotel, not just yet,” Shinichi says. “I’m not ready.”

“Will you ever be?” Kaito asks.

“It doesn’t matter if I am or not. Some things have to be done.”

“Admirable.”

“Sometimes. I want to be able to smile and mean it when I see her again.”

“That’s a tall order.”

Shinichi lets out a sigh, looking out the window. “It is, isn’t it?” He taps around mindlessly on his phone. “May I ask a question?”

“Go ahead.” He refrains from pointing out he just did.

“Does Inspector Nakamori know?”

“Right, you forgot that, too. She does.” Kaito taps his fingers on the steering wheel.

“I’m surprised you told me, just like that.”

“This relationship won’t mean anything without communication and trust,” Kaito says. That, and he’s just _tired._ Of lies, and not trusting anyone, and keeping it all inside. “You already have enough on me to ruin me thrice over. And you told me you wouldn't turn me in. But if you do, leave her out of it. _Please.”_

“Let the chips fall where they may?”

“More like the die is cast.”

“You’re comparing it to crossing the Rubicon?”

“Isn’t it just as bold?”

“Maybe. Unexpected might be a better word. I still don’t understand.”

“What’s there to understand?”

“You’re taking this so easily. I don't—” Shinichi trails off.

“You promised to stay,” Kaito says finally, measuring his words. “And even though you didn’t remember it, you’re still here keeping your promise. Talking about leaving Tokyo even. Why would you leave for me? Why are you serious? Why are we even doing this? We hardly know each other.”

Shinichi hmms. “Speaking of promises, you mentioned a promise kept in the card you gave me.”

“You asked me to marry you,” Kaito says. “You wanted to do it last night and I said no, not yet.” He has to keep his eyes on traffic, but he wishes he could see Shinichi’s reaction. “I said I would if you remembered when you were sober and asked me again.”

“So when I called, you thought I was answering you in the positive.”

“Yes. I got my hopes up. I should have known. Hope is a lie. It’s always empty in the end. Always.”

He looks over to see Shinichi frowning. “That seems like it has a story behind it.”

“It does.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and Shinichi doesn’t ask.

Kaito drives on.


	3. [Clubs]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A marriage happens.
> 
> ...Kind of.

Shinichi glances over, watching Kaito as he drives. He is having a little trouble reconciling the man named Kuroba Kaito with his memories of Kaitou Kid, especially with the finality of those words. They seem to echo through the car. ‘ _Hope is a lie. It’s always empty in the end. Always_.’ Shinichi’s curious. It doesn’t feel right to ask, but that doesn’t seem like the man he had faced off against time and again. The playful, optimistic, and confident Kid.

What had happened to him?

He is not at all what Shinichi expected, and he is still a little floored by the open trust. ‘I just want you to be happy,” Kaito’d said, like they didn’t have a history of antagonism between them. Brief clashes, though—the amount of time they’d ever spent together before yesterday amounted to just _hours_ in the whole of it. Not even a day.

Yet, Shinichi feels like he’s known him forever. Kaito taps his fingers on the steering wheel. He’s always got to be in motion, Shinichi’s noticed. This man is the Kaitou Kid. Well, he _was_ the Kaitou Kid. And the childhood friend of one Inspector Nakamori, which has very interesting implications, especially since she knows his identity. Shinichi wonders if it was before or after his stint as Kid was over.

Kaito glances at him, eyebrow raised.

Shinichi blushes at being caught studying him, turning away, looking out the passenger side window. There’s something peaceful about the city blurring by. This silence. It’s comfortable.

Kaito’s hair is an artfully styled mess; the wind blowing through his hair at the moment makes him look like a film star on camera. The tailored clothes Kaito’s wearing now are expensive but worn, naturally tattered and frayed as opposed to popular fashion. He’s not wasteful, not extravagant like many would be in his position. Even his old roadster, mint as it is, wouldn’t cost over ten thousand USD. They fit what he’s observed of his new character. It could be his old character; Shinichi wouldn’t know. As open as Kid had appeared in their previous acquaintance, even his childish behavior had a practiced feel to it.

Shinichi’s pretty sure the “show” in “showman,” is the long and short of it, though maybe Kaito had once revelled in being the center of attention. Not now, for all he’s actually a famous magician. Shinichi _has_ heard of him. His mother always wanted Shinichi to go with her to see him. He just never thought that he could be Kid. It makes sense, now. His mother’s disguise teacher was the original Kid, who had to be Kaito’s father. It explains so much.

And he’s young. Around Shinichi’s own age. Shinichi can’t get over that. Kaito. So strange to know his name. So odd that they’re here as they are now. He really is the Kaitou Kid. Shinichi glances down at the ring on his hand. And Shinichi had apparently given him the ring on one knee. Kaito has no reason to lie.

And he’s quieter, settled. Mischievous but not manic, filled with surety, but also melancholia. He’s _sad._ A quiet sorrow, and lonely. In the end, their reasoning for going through with a drunken promise is the same. Shinichi’s heart warms at the thought, even as it breaks.

Hope isn’t a lie. It can’t be a lie. It won’t be a lie. Shinichi may not know the full story, but he will share his hope with Kaito since he has none.

He doesn’t want Kaito to be sad anymore. Shinichi knows that bone-deep sorrow, that grief so deep it affects every part of life. Knows that desperation, how it feels to be on the knife’s-edge of coping, to drown in the waves of loss.

Shinichi can guess at his own drunken reasoning, though. In his despair, Shinichi saw a kindred spirit.

He just wishes he remembered. Alcohol affects memory formation, and blackouts can occur one of two ways: en bloc or fragmentary. En bloc wipes the night out completely, so Shinichi expects he experienced the latter. A memory had hit him in the diner when Kaito smiled: a strong impression, nothing but pure, unadulterated giddy happiness, and an arm around his waist, hand spanning his hip.

Kaito’s tale had pierced the dark veil obscuring last night, each word that fell from his lips accompanied by a flash of remembrance, another piece of the puzzle. Walking through the humid night, holding hands. Pieces of a face like Picasso’s _The Weeping Woman_. That often happened after fragmentary blackouts, getting the memories back in pieces.

That kiss against the diner wall had unlocked another desperate sort of memory, another flicker of wavy lights and skin sliding against skin. Hands like brands, burning, burning, burning. Overwhelming and hot.

And Shinichi _wants._

Kaito has the radio off, but he’s singing. “’ _It’s a kind of magic,”_ he sings under his breath before it devolves into humming.

Singing. Shinichi recognizes the song. Queen. They’d sang? Last night? Shinichi runs the hazy memories over and over again in his mind as they pull back into the parking lot. Kaito leaves his sports car on the drive and tosses his keys to the same valet that was there earlier.

They’re not even in the room properly before Kaito discards his overshirt and pulls his undershirt off, heading to the wardrobe and rifling through what looks to be suits.

Shinichi stares. No shame. The man has no shame, thoughtlessly changing in front of him. A lean, powerful, slender back, softly freckled, toned muscles shifting as he looks through his suits. He inhales sharply. Shinichi _wants._ He wants in a way he hasn’t wanted for a long time. He lets out an unconscious noise.

“Hmm?” Kaito half-turns, as Shinichi moves behind him, driven by something he’s afraid to name. Kaito has a fancy gilded standing stage mirror he keeps next to the wardrobe; it’s silvered, and the edging is ornately wrought gold in complex, fanciful designs. Shinichi watches Kaito’s face in the mirror as his arms come around to encircle Kaito’s waist—confusion but for a moment, then acceptance, easy acceptance.

Shinichi’s hands splay across his pectorals and stomach as Shinichi tucks Kaito’s shoulder under his chin. His skin is warm underneath his hands. It’s nice. He’s never been—he doesn’t touch. It’s not him. But he wants to.

Kaito leans back against him, flush. “We look good together, don’t we?” he says.

Oh, but they do. “Two of a kind,” Shinichi says.

“One pair,” Kaito corrects. It’s a small distinction, but an important one. The reflection in the mirror makes them seem like casual lovers. One pair, united by circumstance and shared feeling, even if it’s not love. Shinichi likes the idea.

“Do you see this in your future?” Kaito says.

“Yes,” Shinichi says. “I can’t bring myself to regret any of it.” He traces the muscles of Kaito’s abdomen, feeling him breathe under his hand. “You kept yourself in shape.” Shinichi's on the edge of something, looking down with the world far below him. It’s heady, and he's dizzy, drunk on it.

“Mmhmm,” Kaito says. “I _am_ an escape artist as well, after all.”

Shinichi laughs. The sound vibrates through Kaito; Shinichi can feel it. “Aren’t you, though?” He dips down to the crest of his hips, awfully low, edging into the band of his jeans. He wants to touch so badly, to memorize every inch of his body with his lips, to have him gasping and writhing under his mouth.

Kaito lets out a slow, controlled breath. “We have places we need to be, remember?”

Shinichi wants nothing more but to pin him to the bed. He has ever since he saw him across the lobby in the resort and lighting crawled under his skin, thrumming, building from that smirk he recognized instantly, the one that turned into a soft smile as Kaito caught sight of Shinichi.

But no. Not yet. “I’ll stop. I don’t know what came over me,” Shinichi says.

“It’s not unwelcome,” Kaito assures him, placing his hand over Shinichi’s. “But we haven’t the time, and it’s something to be savored.” He dips Shinichi’s hand even lower, so close he’s almost touching him. Shinichi watches his own eyes darken in the mirror, his face flushing an even deeper shade of red. One of Kaito’s hands goes up, hugging the edge of Shinichi’s cheek, trailing down to his neck. “Red is your color, I think,” he says.

“Yeah?” says Shinichi, breathless, undone by just a touch. Kaito’s the most sensual thing Shinichi has ever seen, the touch slow and deliberate, designed to make him feel this way. Shinichi has never seen someone as controlled and precise as Kaito, no movement wasted, each with a purpose.

“Yeah.” Kaito unbuttons his jeans and lets them fall to the floor, stepping out of them, kicking them out of the way. He favors boxer briefs. Shinichi’s eyes rake over him. His clothing leaves little to the imagination.

“Like what you see?” Kaito teases.

Shinichi swallows. “Yes.” Oh yes. Very much so.

“Good.” Shinichi knows you can’t make a lasting relationship out of solely physical attraction, but it is a decent place to start. “I do have to get dressed, though,” Kaito reminds him.

Shinichi clears his throat. “Right.” But he doesn’t let go. The entire length of Kaito’s body is against his chest, and it’s nice, so he doesn’t have much of an inclination to move.

Kaito lets him linger, closing his eyes and relaxing deeper into the touch, pressing the curve of his body against him.

How long has it been since Shinichi held someone like this? Four, five, six years? Longer? Back when maybe Ran—Shinichi shakes his head. Too long. She’s married, he reminds himself, she and her husband had a long engagement, Shinichi’s had years to get used to the idea. So why does it still feel like a sucker punch to the stomach?

Kaito rocks back against him, grins at Shinichi’s little intake of breath as he presses against him, ducks out of his arms with a laugh.

Forget the past, Shinichi thinks as he watches Kaito disappear into the wardrobe. There is only the future.

-

Kaito debates over his suit for a long time. The one he eventually decides on is a classic; it’s full evening dress, cut in a slightly more modern style, but no different otherwise, waistcoat, tailcoat instead of mantle, white bowtie, silk hat that he leaves off for the moment.

He falters a little when he catches himself in the mirror. His father. Almost paralyzed, his hands fall to the side.

Kuroba Tōichi. It’s too much. He looks away, hands clenched at his side. He has many more suits, ones that remind him less of his father.

No, he thinks as he removes it, he wants to feel like himself tonight as much as he can, and that means a white suit. He can’t do it. He can’t marry Shinichi wearing the black suit, even though the white is too evocative of Kid. He half thinks that’s what caught Shinichi’s attention last night.

He changes into the white tailcoat and trousers; black dress shirt, black waistcoat, black shoes, black band on the hat, keeping the white bowtie. He dresses himself quickly to avoid the temptation lingering beside the bed, putting on his set of cufflinks, the ones he bought from Miguel.

They’re the first things Shinichi notices as Kaito steps out from behind the door by the way his eyes flicker down. “Did you want to borrow a suit?” Kaito asks. “We’re about the same size; though my suits are bespoke, they should fit you if the way those clothes hug you is any indication.”

“Sure,” Shinichi says.

Kid pulls out a sapphire blue dress shirt and holds it up to him. Liking the color, he divests Shinichi of his clothing, letting his hands linger, putting him in a slate black casual suit, blue lapel of the shirt over the coat, leaving the first three buttons undone. Shinichi is a handsome man, compact and muscular.

“Those cufflinks,” Shinichi says. “I found a set just like them on my clothes earlier.” It’s leading

“Ah, right. You wouldn’t know. They’re yours. They were an engagement present from a friend of mine. The one I bought our wedding bands from,” Kaito says.

“They just gave you something that expensive?” Shinichi says, disbelieving.

Kaito frowns, stung from the careless comment. The implication being it was stolen, of course. “No. They gave _you_ something that expensive.” He can’t keep the bite from his tone. He turns away, moves to the cupboard to pull a set of gloves out and put them in an inside pocket. He best not mention Miguel. Wouldn’t want him to accuse him of colluding with an international thief when all Miguel’s done since he’s known Kaito is help him.

For the first time since this all began, Kaito doubts his course of action. Maybe he shouldn’t have told him about Aoko either. He knew they worked together, he could have played it off somehow.

Damn. _Damn._ He can’t take it back now. It’s the third time today he’s misread the situation and misstepped. Damn. It had probably been a bad idea to begin with, anyway, just letting that emptiness inside him talk him around, letting it make him desperate. He should be better about reading people. Hell, his livelihood depends on it. Maybe Kaito has been blinded by wishful thinking this whole time.

And Shinichi is in his sanctuary, the only place in the world where Kaito can be himself. Damn.

“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” Shinichi says quietly.

“Then how did you mean it?”

Silence.

“As I thought, then,” Kaito says.

“I’m sorry.”

“This isn’t going to work if you cannot trust me, _Detective_ ,” he stresses the word, says it like it’s something filthy.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Shinichi says again. “Hey, look at me.” He reaches out, hesitant. Kaito lets him touch his face. He grabs Kaito’s chin, turns his head towards him gently so Kaito is looking at his face. “I really am.”

“I put that life behind me a long time ago,” Kaito says. It’s almost a mirror of their position last night, for all that Shinichi doesn’t remember it.

“I shouldn’t have assumed,” Shinichi says, then he kisses the corner of Kaito’s mouth.

Kaito can’t help it; he lets him. He’s weak for this, so weak. It doesn’t make it better but it doesn’t stop him from returning the kiss, from running his tongue over Shinichi’s bottom lip, from nibbling it slowly to the music of Shinichi’s shocked gasp, from running his tongue over his. From breathing with him and sharing the hurt because the attraction still lingers, damn it, despite it all.

“You haven't…?” Shinichi asks, so close he can feel his heartbeat.

“What? Stolen anything since?” Kaito misses his heists, but he also hasn’t regretted leaving them behind. Fun mixed with terror, bright lights and thrill mixed with pain and revenge. Eyes glowing in the dark.

And it grates to have to answer it, but answer it he does because he wants him to understand. “Not even once,” he says. It started out as freedom, turned into revenge, ended in duty. “Why? Would it make you feel better about yourself if I had?”

“No.”

He doesn’t need to explain himself to Shinichi, but he does anyway because he’s an idiot. “My friend owns a _joyería_. I stopped a thief, having some experience in the matter. They were grateful and wouldn’t take no for an answer. They gave them to you precisely because I wouldn’t take them,” Kaito says. “They wanted us to match on our wedding day. Too bad for them it was all a lie, huh?”

“It isn’t a lie.”

“You are a liar, and I am a thief, and we are both damned to hell because of it.”

“I’m not a liar.”

“Then Mōri-san knows you changed into a little boy? That you still love her?” Kaito asks, and Kaito can see from his stricken expression that his words cut deeply. At the moment, he doesn’t care.

“That’s not fair.”

Neither was his question. _“Life’s_ not fair, Shinichi. _Yes,_ I was a thief. _Yes,_ I enjoyed it. _Yes,_ I broke the law. _No,_ I don’t regret it. What more do you want me to say? I am what I am. You know _exactly_ what I am. I have never claimed to be anything different.”

“You’re not a thief now.”

“I _am_ a thief. Retired, but a thief I am, all the same. Don’t I belong in prison for my crimes?”

Shinichi is quiet for a long moment. “It doesn’t change anything.”

“Are you sure? What makes me different from any other thief? The fact you want to do me?”

Shinichi turns bright pink. “That’s not it at all!”

“A paragon of virtue, you are. How nice of you to condescend to my level.”

“For the record, I’m not condescending,” Shinichi says.

“For the record, I don’t care.”

Shinichi makes a frustrated noise. “Look. I’m not—I’m not going to always get things right.” It looks like it pains him to say it, Kaito thinks unkindly. “I know that. I _know_ that. “Just,” he lets out a breath, runs his fingers through his hair, “please be patient with me.”

Kaito weighs that for a moment. Shinichi _is_ trying in his way. “We’re still trying to figure each other out,” he murmurs. “We don’t know each other, who we are behind our masks, not really.” Because he can’t blame Shinichi for coming to that conclusion based on the evidence he has.

“I’d like to,” Shinichi says. And then abruptly, “I miss your heists. They were fun.” A concession.

“They were, weren’t they?” Kaito muses.

“Yeah. I shouldn’t have insinuated that without having all the facts first. I know better.”

Perhaps Kaito himself is being unreasonable. “Truly, they were a gift from a very dear friend of mine. A very generous gift. How he stays in business, I don’t know, because he’s always doing things like this. He wanted to give me half off our bands; when I asked him to go full price, he agreed, but gave you those instead.” Kaito laughs. “It’s his way of haggling. I still won, though. It’s less than the cost of the rings.”  Kaito turns to Shinichi, narrowing his eyes. “He and his wife are good people, Shinichi. Don’t paint them with my brush.”

There’s a dawning look of understanding in Shinichi’s eyes. Kaito doesn’t like it. He already feels raw, like someone’s ripped out his seams, turned him inside out. “You know, you’re not at all like I thought you would be,” Shinichi says.

“People grow up, Detective. Even the Kid.” Kaito says.

“Yeah. They do. The—”

“—Detective Boys,” they say in unison. Kaito smiles faintly. “They’re teenagers now, right? You feel a certain amount of melancholy about that, right?”

“Yeah,” Shinichi says. “How—?”

“—did I know? You told me. I listened.” Kaito taps his ear.

“Right.” Shinichi says, sitting on the edge of the bed.  “I just…I don’t want to be me any more.” His voice wavers as he admits it.

The last bit of Kaito's anger fades, and he sits down next to him, careful not to crease his suit. “Then don’t be you. There’s nothing that says who you are now is who you are forever, no matter how trapped you feel at the moment.”

“Trapped is a good word. I just feel like I’m lost.”

“Or that you have nothing left to lose.”

“Yeah.”

“The suffering of fools, my dear Detective.” He places his top hat on Shinichi’s head. It’s cocked a little to the side. He looks good in it. “Jokers wild. You said it. We can be whatever we want.”

Shinichi stares.

-

Shinichi reaches up, running his fingers over the white silk. He admittedly overstepped. He wasn’t trying to accuse Kaito of theft, it just sort of…happened. It doesn’t excuse Shinichi’s behavior. He can fully understand Kaito’s anger. Shinichi should know better to assume. He’d learned that a long time ago. But Kaito had let it go so easily. Faith and trust. Those are important things in any relationship, and Kaito had been unwavering in both so far, until Shinichi had acted like an ass.

Kaito actually wants this to work out, and Shinichi still doesn’t know how to feel about that. But what can he do but respond in the positive? Trust and faith. If Kaito is willing to give that to him despite their history, then Shinichi can only do the same. He _will_ have faith in him. Shinichi likes to believe in the good of people, and with Kaito, it’s easier than most, even with their history.

Kind is the word, Shinichi thinks. Kaito is kind. Throughout the day, he’s seen it firsthand. Overtipping the server, the valet. Taking interest in their lives, helping them out as much as he can. Just talking to his fans, the hospitality staff, the people most see as beneath them.  He was going to give his autograph to the city clerk even before they helped Kaito and him out.

What makes him different from any other thief is his kindness, not Shinichi’s attraction. Most thieves are selfish. Shinichi turns to the pile of clothes on the bed. He reaches into the pocket of his borrowed clothes, grabs the cufflinks, taking his time to affix them to his sleeves. As Kaito had talked about his generous friend, another piece of last night had come to him: a bright store in a dim neighborhood, a lilting musical voice, rows and rows of rings, pink paint on the wall.

A man named Miguel.

Kaito is a star, but not because he’s famous. No, it’s because people follow his light. He’s friendly, treats everyone like they’re deserving of respect. He _helps_.

And Shinichi doesn’t want to arrest him. Doesn’t think that he deserves to be arrested. Not that he thinks they’re both above the law, but because he’s contributing to society, more than he could do in prison.

Had he really left Tokyo because he was waiting for the statute of limitations to run out?  Now that Shinichi thinks about it, that might not be it. When he had said he was going to resign from his job at Tokyo Metropolitan HQ, Kaito had immediately volunteered to give up his life here to return to Japan. A life he’d spent at least four years carving out on his own. One of fame, fortune, freedom. If he was afraid of being arrested, that wouldn’t have even been an option. But Kaito hadn’t even hesitated. So there’s another reason he’s here. Maybe he’s running from his memories, too.

Kaito’s acquaintance with Inspector Nakamori, which from her anecdotes about Kaito in passing, sound too much like Shinichi and Ran. And then there is the mysterious last heist of the famed Kaitou Kid. Much speculation has been bandied about, but no one, not even the Kaitou Kid Task Force, knows the whole story. Only the erstwhile Inspector Nakamori Ginzō and the Kid himself. Sure, there is an “official” explanation that had even made it into the police report, but everyone knows it was completely fabricated.

And then Kaito had come to Las Vegas to reinvent himself, and he had been hugely successful.

“We can be whatever we want, huh?” Shinichi mutters. Fine words from the unparalleled master of disguise. What about the rest of them? Heh. He leans over, presses his lips to Kaito’s cheek, which pushes the brim of his hat up. “Forgive me?” he says.

Kaito grasps Shinichi’s face in both hands and kisses him back, slow and sweet and gentle. “You’re forgiven.”

“So how about we ante up?” Shinichi says, leaning forward, hands together, eyes bright. “Jokers wild?”

“What do have in mind?”

“Craziest chapel.” That has to be the kind of thing Kaito likes, right?

Kaito frowns. “I’m vetoing the mascot one. I know you said you didn’t want to be you, but I believe that one is taking it a little too far.”

“What, seriously?” Shinichi says. “One for mascot suits? Is there that much of a demand for it? Seems like a niche market, even for the ‘Marriage Capital of the World.’” Shinichi wonders how they stay in business. They probably offer other services, he thinks. Perhaps it’s a costume shop primarily.

“Seriously,” Kaito says. “I am not getting married in a hot dog suit, thank you very much. You know the bottom half of those suits wiggle? Can you imagine a hot dog wiggling all over the place? It’s distracting.”

How does he know the bottom half wiggles? Unless it’s from personal experience. And also that sounds very— Shinichi opens his mouth. “Don’t you dare say it,” Kaito puts his fingers over his mouth.

Shinichi holds up his hands. “Wasn’t going to,” he demurs, speaking through Kaito’s fingers, though seriously, he totally was. It’s just begging for a bad joke, and though Shinichi normally wouldn’t stoop that low, it might cheer Kaito up.  Then he cuts his eyes at Kaito. “But what if I want to get married in a hot dog suit?”

“ _No_.” Kaito’s vehement denial. With that much vitriol, it sounds very much like personal experience. Ooh, Shinichi found a weak point.

“Are you saying you can’t handle my hot dog?” Shinichi asks with a grin.

Kaito groans. “Handle your hot dog, yes, handle you as a hot dog, no. And Aoko accuses _me_ being juvenile!” Kaito is complaining but he’s smiling, their argument from before seemingly forgotten, so Shinichi considers it a win.

“You wouldn’t even consider it?” Shinichi wonders.

“Aside from the fact I suspect you’re having me on, yes I actually would if I thought it was something you were interested in. You’re certainly an adult and entitled to your own decisions,” Kaito said.

Shinichi’s heart swells. “So does that mean bananas are off the table too?” he says, just to be cheeky.

“I give up,” Kaito says in mock exasperation.

Shinichi is grinning wide. “You would do it, though.” It’s not a question.

“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been accused of having no shame, certainly,” Kaito says, deflecting. Kaito grabs his laptop from the desk next to the bed, going to the search engine and querying for local places. Shinichi shifts closer to see the screen, his whole body against Kaito’s, warm and comforting. An arm comes around his side, and Shinichi can’t help but lean into it a little. It’s the most human contact he’s had in a long time, and he hadn’t realized he was missing it until now.

Kaito clicks through the various venues. “No.” Click. “No.” Click. “Hell no.” Click.

Shinichi frowns. “What’s wrong with the Underwater Wedding Package at the Silverton? Sharks and merpeople as part of the wedding party? That sounds interesting. I’m scuba certified,” Shinichi says. “Are you not?”

“I am, but also fish, and I don’t like fish.”

“You don’t like fish?” Shinichi asks. He’s not surprised about the scuba certification, but Kaito hasn’t shown any indication of not liking fish. Usually Shinichi can pick up quirks in personality like that. Granted, even at the Blush Mermaid Heist, there hadn’t been any fish, so he hasn’t really ever had the opportunity to observe.

“Correction: I hate fish. So that one’s definitely out.” Kaito brings up the next one. “What about on top the High Roller?” Kaito says. “It’d be a fantastic view, being the world’s tallest observation wheel. I know someone who could get us in today.”

Shinichi shudders, remembering too many times they had exploded or fallen. “Definitely not. After all the trouble with observation wheels? With my luck, someone would set off a bomb on it as we were exchanging vows.”

Kaito clicks out of it, goes back to browsing hotel wedding chapel packages. “The effects of our bad luck would be exponential, probably. I agree. Bad idea.”

“Many of them seem very similar, don’t they?” Shinichi says. “What about here in your casino?”

“You kidding? The guy that runs our chapel would sell me out to the paparazzi for a dollar.” Kaito frowns, scrolling through sites and packages. “At this rate, maybe we will have to settle for a hot dog wedding.”

“I’d relish that chance to be honest,” Shinichi says.

“Did you just—?” Kaito can’t help but snicker. “It worries me that after I said we could be whatever we wanted the first thing that came to mind was a hot dog.”

“You’re the one that brought up the hot dog suits,” Shinichi reminds him.

“Hmm. True.”

“Is there a place actually dedicated to costumes?”

“I have no idea. Zara mentioned it. She sees all types there at the bar. And I mean all types.”

“Zara? That name sounds familiar.”

“My barman friend, the one that works at the casino bar? You’ve met her. She was the one handing you your drinks last night.”

Shinichi blinks. A flash, and he remembers her: black hair, kind words, warm brown eyes, Ran’s smile.

“Do you know everyone in this city?”

“It seems like it some days.” Kaito clicks through more and more. Most of them are typical, bride white dress and tuxedo rentals, casino/hotels, the occasional Elvis-themed one, drive-through weddings. A Denny’s diner that performs marriage services; unusual but not exactly what Shinichi wants. Must be the same for Kaito, because he starts complaining. “I honestly expected more flamboyant choices, especially for a competitive market,” Kaito says. “Boring!”

“What about this one?” Shinichi points, finger hovering over the laptop screen. It is a costume-oriented place, though thankfully the website has no mention of hot dog suits. Kaito clicks through it.

“Looks kind of sketchy,” Kaito says. It isn’t robust, package options barely mentioned, and it looks like it was coded in the mid-nineties. The banner on the homepage is a tasteful image of several couples dressed in corsets and bustles and canes and silk hats and capes though, which is exactly Shinichi’s style, considering many of the couples are dressed mid to late nineteenth century. Holmes’s time.  And judging by the way Kaito makes a noise of interest, his too. “I like it.”

“Cross check it with places authorized to officiate?”

Kaito does. “It’s on the list.”

“I think we’ve found it then,” Shinichi says.

“Let’s do it,” Kaito says, rubbing his hands together. “You sure? Last chance to back out.”

“No, I’m all in,” Shinichi says.

“Good,” Kaito says, and leans over for another kiss that Shinichi returns gladly. This one turns heated, and Shinichi lets Kaito push him to the bed, lets him run his hand down his side to settle at his hip before pulling away. Kaito licks his wet lips, before biting the bottom one. “Soon,” he says, voice husky.

“Soon,” Shinichi agrees, and they leave the hotel room before either of them become more inclined to stay.

It’s too far to really walk, so they drive to the cute little mock gothic chapel, made far longer by a bad car accident that slows down traffic. It’s unlocked when they reach it, and the sign proclaims they’re open, but as they enter the vestibule, no one’s around. It’s small with a crooked steeple like something out of a nursery rhyme, and Shinichi likes it already.

A small noise like a whimper puts Kaito on edge. As tense as he is, Shinichi is even worse; his steps become short, clipped, measured, and he strides through the mock sanctuary like a tiger pacing his cage. Black and white portraits of the employees hang the wall, their names and job titles in fancy plaques underneath, sort of like something one would find in an old mansion. Delores V. Carver, Don E. Hugh, Jerry Nguyen, María S. G. Espinoza, Corinne “Ruby” Alexie.

They reach the altar to find a thick lady in early nineteenth century clothing crying on her hands and knees, smartphone clenched in one hand, results for towing companies up. Her round face is quite pretty, but her lipstick is smudged and her make-up is running, the poor dear.

“Excuse me, miss,” Shinichi says, and the woman jumps like she’s been shot. “Are you all right?”

She looks at the two of them, her eyes flicker down to the rings on their hands and she starts crying again. She takes a deep rattling breath and says, “I’m sorry, we’re closed. Probably permanently.”

Kaito and Shinichi share a glance.

“Why?” Kaito asks.

“It wasn’t a murder, was it?” Shinichi asks. He’s sure it’s due to the accident, but one can never be too careful.

“Murder?” Kaito asks him wryly.

“You know my luck, Kaito,” Shinichi says. It’s a wonder he hasn’t come across a crime yet, especially with the United States’s homicide rate.

“Oh heavens no! Why in the world would it be a murder?” Her eyes grow wide. “Wait, you’re not here to kill me, are you?” Then her lip wobbles again. “Well if you are, go ahead and do it and put me out of my misery. My family could use the insurance money.”

“I don’t think that’s the kind of thing you tell a police detective, ma’am,” Shinichi says.

“You’re a police detective?”

“Off-duty,” Shinichi says.

“Right, of course,” she says. “I assume you were here to get m-married?” She wipes futilely at her eyes. It just smears her mascara.

“That was the idea, yes.” Kaito says.

“Perhaps we should have just done it at the clerk’s office,” Shinichi says.

Kaito elbows him. “We wanted a ceremony!”

“Well, we would have been free. We had a big party just cancel, and,” she starts sniffing again.

Kaito pulls a fresh rose from his sleeve, kneels down and holds it out to her. “Such a beautiful princess shouldn’t cry. It pains me to see a bright face raining.”

Her eyes light up with wonder, she accepts it with genuine awe. Kaito brings the back of her hand to his lips and then helps her up. She's blushing. Kaito can pull out the charm, Shinichi thinks. He disarmed and enchanted her so easily. Shinichi likes to think he’s past this kind of thing, but really, he’s not. Kaito can enchant and disarm him with ease as well. It should probably worry him, but it doesn’t. Not when Kaito just used it to cheer a stranger up.

The longer he spends with Kaito, the more he likes him.

Shinichi puts his hands in his pockets. “But that’s not what you’re upset about, is it? I don’t see any of your staff.”

“No. They cancelled because the coordinator and the photographer—”

“Got into a car accident, right?” Shinichi says.

She blinks. “How did you know?”

“Other than the fact traffic was backed up on the way here? Your cell phone still has the number for a local towing company up. They probably carpool together. Though it is a little strange that you’re the one calling for them. Do they not have cell phones?” Shinichi asks.

“Delores is a little too into the steampunk thing,” the woman says with a shaky laugh. “She has a burner phone but she’s out of minutes. Don is all right, but he texted me with the last of his battery and asked me to call a tow truck.”

“Why didn’t he call the towing service himself?” Kaito asks.

“He was afraid the call would cut out,” she says.

“You have more than two employees, right? Where’s everyone else?” Shinichi asks. “It’s odd for you to be the only one here.”

“I just told them to take a day. I can’t afford to—” she starts hiccupping.

“Pay them?” Shinichi says.

Kaito frowns. “That’s an awfully forward question about money, even for here,” he hisses in Japanese. Huh. Shinichi didn’t think that would be such a big deal. He’s just getting an idea of what’s happening.

“I’m not even sure I’ll make this month’s rent,” she says. “Our last audit was bad. I was hoping for some good publicity, since the man getting married was some kind of eccentric actor. I mean, it’s not his fault they got into an accident, but he got mad, and just—” More tears.

“No deposit, even?” Shinichi says. Typically one paid a deposit for a reservation like this, precisely for this reason. Someone is rotten, Shinichi knows. He just has to figure out who. It’s too convenient. Even the car accident. Coincidental enough to be planned.

She shakes her head. “People don’t like to be inconvenienced, and it didn’t feel right.”

“An eccentric actor, huh? I wonder if I’ve heard of him,” Kaito says. She tells him his name. Patrick O'Donaghue. “It's as I feared; the man is a known scoundrel. He’s not even famous, letting a little money and a small role go to his head,” Kaito says.

Even Shinichi knows Kaito’s star power outshines his easily.  “Well, he sounds abominably self-centered,” Shinichi says. “He probably didn’t have the money to begin with.” And with the name of the actor, it all clicks together.

“I’m so stupid, god. He probably didn’t.”

Kaito turns to Shinichi, a storm on his face, “I’m a thief, yes, but I prefer outright theft,” he whispers furiously in Japanese.  “Even though I’ve hustled a time or two in my younger years, I’ve never outright conned someone like that, and never an innocent. I find it deplorable.”

“You noticed it too, then?” Shinichi asks, eyes flickering to the employee pictures on the walls.

“Yeah,” Kaito says. “Different last name, but highly similar facial features. Make-up doesn’t do much to hide it. Not to mention the stupid pun. O'Donaghue. Don E. Hugh. Two-man con.”

“We should do something about it,” Shinichi says.

Kaito grins darkly, “Oh, can we?”

“So he probably went for what, the thousand dollar package?” Shinichi asks, switching to English. “Full costumes, limo, photos, catering?”

She frowns. “How do you know all this?”

“I’m Shinichi Kudō, detective,” Shinichi says, jerking his thumb at himself with a grin, introducing himself western style.

Kaito raises his eyebrows. “Kudō? The Modern Holmes? Detective of the East? The one who disap—” then he realises just why, and he laughs. He laughs hard, bending over, clutching at his stomach, tears in his eyes. “Hahaha, it took me too long to put two and two together. I can’t believe it. I never really followed the story, but I’ve been mistaken for you, once or twice.” He wipes the tears from his eyes. “That’s great. I had to look you up because people thought I was you.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Kaito,” Shinichi says, but he’s smiling too.

“But I thought you were here to get married?” she says, “You didn’t know his name? Is this a shotgun kind of thing?”

“It’s a long story. We knew each other under aliases.”

“Spies?”

“Hardly, haha, though it does seem like it. We were both undercover at some point,” Shinichi says.

“Ooh, that’s a clever deflection,” Kaito says in Japanese. Shinichi rolls his eyes.

“Right, it’s not like you would be able to tell me if you were, duh. You fell in love on the job?”

“Something like that.” Shinichi says.

“Hey, under Nevada law all we need is an officiant and a witness right?” Kaito asks her.

“Yeah. I have my license and I’m usually the one who officiates the weddings, so technically just a witness. Usually we have at least _someone,_ but this day, I swear.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Shinichi says, but he starts laughing. “We need a witness?” It feels like his birthday came early. “You wouldn’t happen to have an Inverness cape?”

She blinks. “We do have that in costume, yes.”

“Deerstalker?”

“Yes.”

“You know, Holmes was a city gentleman, not a country gentleman,” Kaito said conversationally. “He would have worn a bowler or silk hat as was proper of a city gentleman for most of the time, not a deerstalker as was typical of a rural man. Even he was conscientious of certain societal graces.”

Holmes trivia from Kid? Interesting. “Yes, but it became iconic through other mediums and then perpetuated. It may be an adaptation, but in this case one has to concede to the popular. Also, it looks cool.”

“‘It looks cool,’” Kaito parrots. “You, my dear, have an incurable condition. It’s called being a geek and a Holmes fan and I don’t know you. Deerstalkers are not cool.”

“Come on, dress up with me. I’ll be Holmes and you can be my Watson.”

“I am most emphatically not your Watson. Particularly not from the Rathbone films.”

“You know, you know an awfully lot about Holmes canon and the adaptations. Why is that?”

“Aoko once tried to get me to join a detective club,” Kaito says, sniffing haughtily. “Know thine enemy, after all. In this case you would be Irene and me Norton, yes? Well, I object. You can be Holmes, and I,” he lingers on the word, taking out his monocle with a flourish, “Will be the one and only famous gentleman thief, Arsène Lupin, who foiled Sherlock Holmes not once, but twice.” He dons his top hat and extends his pocket cane, tapping it twice on the floor, the very picture of a dapper gentleman.

“That is most emphatically NOT Holmes canon and was a complete disregard of intellectual property,” Shinichi says, annoyed.

“That, my dear Holmes fanatic, is a matter of taste. And you don’t have any.”

“I’m marrying you, aren’t I?” Shinichi rejoins, which makes Kaito put a hand over his heart and let out a false sob.

“I’m crushed,” he says. “So, so, crushed.” Shinichi laughs.

The officiant, who’d been bouncing her head back and forth watching their banter, says excitedly, “You’re already dressed the part!”

“But a marriage of those two would be fantastic, yes? Just think about it, the illustrious Holmes and the elusive thief!”

“And now we get to the real reason you decided to marry me,” Shinichi says. “Fiction.” Kaito grins.

“Well, my dear Holmes, go get dressed and I shall find us a witness!”

“Even after everything, you still want to get married here?” the officiant says, bewildered.

“Well Mister Police Detective over there wants to marry as Holmes, and you have an Inverness cape and a deerstalker (however inaccurate it may be), so who am I to deny him?”

“Says the man patterned after Arsène Lupin,” Shinichi says. “Why are we getting married again?”

“Because we both have a terrible taste in men?” Kaito says.

“Are you sure you aren’t married already?” the officiant says. “Because you pretty much act like you’re married already.”

Both of them share a look. Oh, if only she knew.

“In any case, I shall be back as soon as possible.”

-

Kaito wanders into the street. “Witness, witness,” he mutters under his breath.

A man in a suit walks by. “Hey, excuse me, can you—” he dodges Kaito’s grab and continues on his way.

“Excuse me,” he asks a woman.

“Not interested,” she says, sticking her hand in his face.

“ _Rude_.”

Kaito presses doggedly on, asking many different people and being met with the same answer every time.

Finally, he runs across an umber-skinned fellow wearing a white cap backwards and a denim jacket. He’s muttering darkly under his breath and looks like he hasn’t slept. “Excuse me,” Kaito says. Much to his surprise, the man actually stops to listen. “My fiancé and I are in need of a witness to our wedding, and we’re in quite a hurry.”

The man gives his attire a once over, then rolls his eyes. “Well, it isn’t to escape to the Continent is it? Because it appears you’re already here.”

Kaito laughs, delighted he understands the reference to _“_ A Scandal in Bohemia.” “No, I must confess, though I do have my very own Holmes waiting for me.”

The man’s eyes narrow. “Really now? A Holmes? I guess I could. This won’t take long, will it?”

“It’s hardly elaborate. A half hour at the most, if that. Just us and the officiant. A mishap at the poor chapel, and we were left without a witness.”

“It wasn’t murder, was it?” the man says, looking at Kaito strangely.

“Ah, no.” Theft and embezzlement by “Don,” the brother of one disliked silver screen actor, but not murder. Well, he thinks the traffic accident might be attempted murder, but that’s just a hunch.

“Then sure.” They walk along for a little bit, and the man says, “It was the traffic accident, wasn’t it?”

“Ah, yes, in part. But we really are in a hurry. My show starts in,” Kaito checks his watch. “Two hours or so? Factoring in the wedding and travel time, we are cutting it awfully close as it is.”

Another few steps, and “I know you. You’re that famous magician? Originally from Tokyo?”

Kaito’s used to getting recognized now, so he doesn’t mind answering, but something about that question seems pointed. “Ah, yes.”

“Hadn’t heard anything about you getting married, that’s all,” the man says, nonchalant, hands in his pockets.

Kaito hmms. “It was a spur of the moment decision. Met up with an old friend I hadn’t seen in a long time, and one thing led to another, and here we are!” Kaito says, beaming. And actually, they are here. They enter the little gothic chapel and stride directly to the mock altar. “Love, I found someone!” Kaito crows.

“Great, I was getting worried since you were gone for such a long time—” Shinichi pauses as his eyes widen at the newcomer. He’s in full Holmes regalia, dove grey Inverness cape and deerstalker, and he’s adorable. He’s also flustered, but he hides it admirably as his face turns impassive seconds later.

“An old friend, huh?” the man in the ball cap states, eyebrow raised.

Kaito is about to answer, when Shinichi cries out, “My dear Watson! How fortuitous it should be you he happened upon! Come, come, you must be part of the wedding! I shall have no other as my best man, after all.”

“Watson” doesn’t look impressed, instead crossing his arms. “I spent all night looking for you. You weren’t answering your phone.”

“I left a note,” Shinichi says petulantly, breaking character. “And my phone is dead.”

Oh, this is great. Kaito had to find the _one_ person in all of Las Vegas who knows Shinichi.

“Yeah, and you about drove Nee-chan crazy with worry! And then I find you in a wedding chapel of all places, about to get married to some stranger! Kudō, what’s gotten into you?”

It seems like Mōri-san wasn’t the only one who was worried, either. They must be good friends for him to track him down like that.

Shinichi ignores his words. “You don’t mind bearing the rings, do you, Hattori?” Shinichi asks, holding his band out.

“I’m trying to—” Hattori begins, then lets out a frustrated noise. He looks at the rings, bewildered. “Yeah, I don’t mind. It’s just, are you sure, Kudō? It seems quick, and with Nee-chan just hitched, it just seems like you’re jumping into things, that’s all.”

“I know exactly what I’m doing, Hattori.”

“I just don’t want you doing anything you’ll regret later.”

“No regrets,” Shinichi says, looking over at Kaito with a soft smile. It takes Kaito’s breath away. “I have no regrets at all.”

Hattori exhales slowly. “I’ll believe you then,” he says. “If you’re sure.”

Just like that? Interesting, to have such faith in his friend.

As Kaito goes to give him his band as well, Hattori gives him a hard look, his eyes flickering down to his engagement ring and back up again. “You do know that’s Nee-chan’s, right?”

“I beg to differ. It’s _mine_ ,” Kaito says, feeling oddly territorial. Hattori opens his mouth, but Kaito is still speaking and will not be talked over. “However, I am well aware it was intended for Mōri-san, and that she was wed yesterday. Neither one of us going into this blind, if that is your fear.”

The hard stare lingers, Hattori’s eyes searching Kaito’s. He seems to find what he's looking for because he holds out his hand. “Hattori Heiji, detective.”

“Kuroba Kaito, magician,” Kaito says, taking it and shaking his hand. His grip is a little tight, but Kaito matches it with a firm grip of his own.

“An ‘old friend,’ huh?” Hattori says as he lets go.

“Something of that nature, yes.”

“I don’t like it,” Hattori states.

“You don’t have to,” Kaito says. “I’m not marrying _you_.”

“Fair enough,” Hattori says.

“I just ask you give me a chance, since you’re obviously close.”

Hattori gives him a measuring look, a complete once over. “Well, you aren’t marrying him for his money, that’s for sure.” What an odd statement.

“Ms. Ruby,” Shinichi says. “We are ready when you are.”

Kaito turns, and sure enough, the officiant is bustling out of the office, her face still a mess. He frowns. Something has to be done about that. “Oh, you found someone?” she says to Kaito.

“Indeed,” he nods. “A friend of ours.” Hattori looks like he wants to protest.

Ruby gives Hattori a once over. “There are costumes in the back, in case you want to match your friends.”

Startled, Hattori puts his hands up. “I’m not sure—”

“Come on, Hattori, it’ll be fun,” Shinichi says. “Live a little.”

“You’re the one who likes Holmes, not me,” He grumbles, but he heads into the back room, leaving just the three of them.

Kaito turns to Ruby. “Ms. Ruby, is it?”

“Ah, yes, that’s my name,” she says.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to fix your makeup, if that’s alright.”

“I’m not sure—”

But Shinichi is snickering. “I don’t think there’s anyone more qualified to be honest.”

“Such faith in me,” Kaito says. “And you haven’t even seen my recent work!”

She’s barely nodded her acquiescence before he has his kit out, cleaning her face. “You’re not allergic to anything?”

“No.”

So he reapplies and he’s done and she’s perfect in just few minutes, Hattori coming out at the end looking rather uncomfortable in a black Inverness and a bowler.  “See now? You’re right as rain, Ms. Ruby.”

He holds out a hand mirror pulled from his suit, and she takes it, gasping. “How did you do that so quickly?”

“Magic, my dear.” Kaito leans over and whispers in her ear, _sotto voce, “_ One must have a solid grasp of stage makeup, you see, if one wants to make it as a magician.”

“Hey, we should take a photo,” Shinichi says. “Something to remember this by.”

“Selfie of all of us? And then Ms. Ruby can take pictures of us on my phone after the ceremony if she wouldn’t mind,” Kaito says. “And I’ll mail them to you.”

“I’d be happy to!”

“Hey, Hattori!” Kaito calls out. “Come take a selfie with us!”

“Alright,” he says, hands in his pockets. “Don’t know why you have be so familiar, though.”

They all lean together, he on the right side and Shinichi in the middle and Hattori on the other, and right before Kaito clicks the shutter he presses his lips to Shinichi’s cheek, making him beautifully scarlet. The camera captures it in its perfection, and Kaito immediately sets it as his home screen.

“Really, Kaito?” Shinichi says, rubbing at his cheek.

“But look at you! You’re adorable!” Kaito says, bringing both of his arms around from behind and showing him his phone with his chest pressed to Shinichi’s back.

“I’m not. You did that on purpose!”

“Well, yes. I did,” Kaito admits. “But look at you!”

“No, I look ridiculous, delete it,” Shinichi says, elbowing him.

“You look amazing,” Kaito says, and with a twist of his wrist, he activates the camera and takes another photo of the two of them, Shinichi’s adorable disgruntled face in full view. “See? You are! What’s ridiculous is your deerstalker.”

“No, look at you. How do you even keep that suit clean?”

“I have the proof of your ridiculousity right here, Mr. Deerstalker.”

“‘Ridiculousity’ is not a word.”

“If you can say it and it carries meaning, it’s a word. My neologism, so there.”

Hattori is giving them a considering look, like he’s trying to puzzle something out.

“So do you want a traditional set-up?” Ms. Ruby asks.

“I think we’ll have a shortened ceremony with our own vows, if Shinichi doesn’t object. We’re running out of time.”

“Sounds good to me. You go first?” Shinichi asks.

“I can,” Kaito says.

“Then we can begin. No walking down the aisle or traditional words?”

Shinichi shakes his head. “ No need. Something short and sweet,” Shinichi says.

“Extremely short,” Kaito says. “I should be backstage right now.”

To her credit, she starts immediately since all four of them are gathered at the altar. “Marriage is a curious thing,” says she. “It’s a choice. A decision made between two people, saying, 'You’re the one I choose to spend the rest of my life with.’ A sign to the rest of the world that you are for each other. Maybe you don’t really know how or why or when it happened, but you fit together.

“You take the best and worst parts of each other. You build each other up, so the both of you can become stronger. You work together. A marriage in its most basic sense is a partnership. It’s a joining. Becoming greater than the sum of your parts.

“The truest love is not selfish. So here and now as the master of this ceremony, I charge you both to love fully and freely, through the joys and the sorrows, the laughter and the tears. To make a life together, and never, ever forget to be kind to one another, even through the hardest times.

“And now, you may exchange your vows,” she says solemnly at Kaito.

Kaito clears his throat. “When I first saw you, Kudō Shinichi, I saw darkness. I saw a man alone in a crowded room, drinking his friends down to the last drop, enveloped by a dark sadness so heavy you could _feel_ it. And as we rediscovered each other, told each other our deepest secrets, I realised how bright you really were, vibrant and full of life.

“You’re like a stained glass window in a dark room. All you need is a little light to show the world how beautiful you can be. And yes, I called you beautiful, I see you blushing. You’re a beautiful man, get used to it.

“Maybe we don’t know each other well enough yet, but I’d like to spend my whole life learning your tells, if you’ll have me. To stay by your side. So please, let me stay by your side.

“So with this ring you picked out, I ask you to hold, not fold. To call my bluffs and keep the ante high. To go from two of a kind to one pair, jokers wild.”

Kaito takes the ring from Hattori and slides it on Shinichi’s finger.

“We met again on probably what was my darkest day of my life,” Shinichi says. “If not the darkest than a contender for sure.”

Hattori looks like he wants to say something, then thinks better of it.

“You made me laugh despite it all, made sure I was okay, kept me safe, stayed by my side.” He laughs. “Kept me from doing anything stupid. We’ve had our differences in the past, and even some more recently, but you keep looking out for me, even when it might not be the best idea, or the safest for you.

“If I’m bright, then you’re warm. Your smile brightens up a room. You know everyone, and you’re constantly going out of your way, however reluctantly, to put people at ease. You _help_. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it, not from someone in your position. You remind me that I need to get all the facts before I come to a conclusion, and to never lose sight of what’s really important.

“I want this. To stay by your side. To let you stay by mine. To spend the rest of our lives growing and learning together.

“So with this ring you bought me, I ask you to hold, not fold. To call my bluffs and keep the ante high. To go from two of a kind to one pair, double or nothing.”

Shinichi takes the ring and slides it onto Kaito’s finger. “Nothing is going to stop me from betting all in,” he says, letting his hands linger on Kaito’s.

Ms. Ruby nods. “All parties are in accord?”

They both nod.

“Then by the power vested in me by Clark County and the State of Nevada, I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss the groom.”

Shinichi leans in and presses a chaste kiss to Kaito’s lips, but Kaito’s not having any of it. He hugs Shinichi, swinging him around and dipping him before kissing him again.

That particular kiss doesn’t last long. They can’t even kiss properly since Shinichi’s laughing into the kiss, but Kaito doesn’t care. Shinichi’s laugh is bright and happy and free, and it’s the best sound he’s heard in a long time.

“Hey Hattori, guess what?” Shinichi says, and he sounds drunk.

“You’re married?” Hattori says, long-suffering.

“I’m married!” he beams.

“Is it too early to call you my ball-and-chain?” Kaito wonders.

Hattori snorts. Shinichi shoots him a look. “What?” Kaito asks, his expression pure innocence. “I’m kidding!”

“I know.” Shinichi looks at his watch. “We should probably change, it’s getting late and you still have to make it to your show.”

“We should do pictures, first,” Kaito says.

So they pose, and Ruby takes a lot of pictures of the three of them. It takes too long, but Kaito can’t bring himself to care. Not when Shinichi looks so happy. A far cry from last night. Proof that people can grow and change and heal. A chance to find happiness.

As Shinichi goes to change out of the rental clothes, Kaito sidles up to Hattori. “When does your flight leave?”

“The day after tomorrow. Why?”

Kaito looks over at Shinichi. “You’ll take care of him when I can’t be there, right? I won’t be able to go back to Japan for a while. Work, you know. I don’t think he should be alone right now.”

Hattori’s eyes soften. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

Hattori looks at Ms. Ruby, switches to Japanese. “How did you find Kudō, anyway?”

“Extremely drunk.”

“That ain’t what I meant, but it’s useful information.”

“In the bar after work. He wandered in after it rained, apparently. We got to talking. Technically, he found me.”

“And in your vows, you mentioned secrets. What might those be?”

“There’s a reason they’re called secrets,” Kaito says with a raised eyebrow. “But if it alleviates some of your concern, we met on a case some time ago, and we share a mutual acquaintance in one Edogawa Conan.”

Hattori lets out a breath. “So you do know. Thought so. Heh. He ain’t even told Nee-chan.”

“I wasn’t certain you did either, but it’s good to know he has someone else to share his burdens with.”

“He doesn’t lack for friends, you know. He has a ton of people willin’ to look out for him,” Hattori states.

“I know,” he says. “But there’s a difference between friendship and being comfortable enough with someone to share your burdens.” He shouldn’t do this, this dig at Shinichi’s friend. But he had let him wander Las Vegas alone in that mindset, and Kaito isn’t at all inclined to take it lightly. Anything could have happened. He doesn’t think Shinichi would have taken his own life, but it doesn’t mean he would have been at all inclined to help himself should something go wrong, either.

“That ain't—”

“You let him go off alone in that emotional state,” Kaito says, cutting him off. “Knowing how much he was hurting.”

“And you ain’t takin’ advantage of him, marryin’ him like this?”

“Never,” Kaito says. “ _Never.”_

Hattori mulls it over for a bit. “I know a lot of cops,” Hattori says finally. “I am a cop.”

Kaito narrows his eyes. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a fact.”

“I’m married to a cop,” Kaito says, just to be an ass. As if he’d let somebody like this intimidate him.

Hattori grimaces, opens his mouth to say something when Shinichi comes out, back in Kaito’s clothes, to find the two of them facing one another, posture tense.

“What’s going on?” Shinichi asks.

“Nothing,” both Kaito and Hattori say.

Shinichi doesn’t look like he believes them, but it’s really neither here nor there. Kaito leaves them to it; he turns his attention instead to Ms. Ruby.

“We haven’t discussed payment, yet,” he reminds her.

“Oh, after all the trouble you’ve gone through, I couldn’t possibly.”

“You were quite generous, Miss,” he says. He takes a moment, writes out a check and hands it to her. “Thank you for accommodating us despite your own troubles.”

“Are you serious!?” he hears her shriek, and smiles. “This has got to be some kind of mistake,” She tries to hand it back, but Kaito won’t have any of it. He closes her hand around it.

“No, not a mistake. I like to see kind people succeed, you see. Consider it an investment and grow wisely. Should be able to keep you in business for a few more months, yes?” Especially once he paid a visit to Don and his brother.

“More than enough. I can’t believe this. Just, thank you. You’ve given me a way out when I thought I had lost all hope. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

“Hope is my business, my dear lady, and delight my currency.” He bows with a flourish. “Seeing your smile is payment enough.” A puff of smoke and his business card appears between his fingers. “Should you ever find yourself in need of entertainment, hmm?”

“You’re really a professional magician?” she says.

“I did say I was. The very best,” Kaito says.

“And the most modest, too,” Shinichi says, coming up to them. Hattori follows.

“I try.”

She reads the card and her eyes widen. “Oh my God! I’ve heard of you. You really are! Oh wow, I mean, I thought you looked familiar! Delores loves your show! She’s a huge fan. I can’t believe you got married here. She is never going to believe it.”

“Indeed.”

“Wait, you mean you’re actually a famous magician?” Hattori says, incredulous.

“I thought you said you knew I was a famous magician originally from To…kyo.” Kaito blinks. “Oh.” Then he looks at Shinichi, who gives him a once over and a pointed look, tapping at his eye. It’s not unusual for magicians to dress in Kid’s colors, certainly, but for someone who knows both Edogawa Conan’s history and that he is Kudō Shinichi, it might as well have been a flashing neon sign to his identity.

“Yeah, 'Oh,’” Hattori says, snickering. Then he goes to change, leaving Kaito a little gobsmacked. Detectives, right. Right.

They exchange farewells with Ms. Ruby, and he and Shinichi and Hattori linger in front of the chapel.

“So I’m guessin’ you ain’t coming back with me, Kudō?”

Shinichi shakes his head. “Not yet. I still need time. Tomorrow. I’ll be back for Ran’s second ceremony.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that. I ain’t makin’ your excuses, either.”

“Just tell them you found me. And that I met up with an old friend.”

“You’re gonna tell me about all this someday?” Hattori asks. He phrases it like a demand, but it’s definitely a question.

Shinichi looks over to Kaito, searching, asking permission.

Kaito nods. Someday, and soon, whether by his hand or another’s, it won’t be a secret anymore. And he trusts who Shinichi trusts. Besides, Hattori already knows, though Kaito doesn’t remember ever seeing him at a heist.

“Yeah. We’ll talk.” They clasp each other’s arms just before the elbow, pull one another into a tight hug.

And then Hattori hugs Kaito too, much to his surprise. “Take care of 'im, moron,” he says.

“I will,” Kaito promises. Hattori slugs him in the shoulder: a confirmation of their agreement.

Then he walks away, not looking back, hand thrown up into the air.

Kaito looks at his watch and lets out a curse. “Not much time and it’s across town. I’m gonna be late!”

“Do you trust me?”

That’s a silly question. Kaito tells him so. “I’ve trusted you this far, haven’t I?”

“Let me drive?”

“Sure. You’re certified to drive here, yes?” Kaito tosses over the keys.

“Please,” Shinichi says, catching them. “The road tests here are nothing compared to back home, you know that.”

“Just checking.”

Shinichi slides into the driver’s seat, Kaito following in the passenger’s. “At least you had the sense to get a manual transmission. I’m assuming this has the L-82 optional engine? The L-82s could at least get over 200 horsepower. Or is custom? ”

Kaito blinks. “I don’t know…?” he hazards. “I think…?” He bought it from a woman who’d had it for decades; she needed the money for surgery but wouldn’t accept a donation. He can change the oil and maintain it, but that’s about the extent of his knowledge. He’s good at electrical engineering and programming software, but that’s a far cry from being able to navigate his way around a combustible engine, and for all the people he’s disguised as, a gearhead had never been one of them.

“Good. At least we’ll be able to hit zero to sixty miles per hour in less than eight seconds,” Shinichi says. Kaito suddenly has a very, very bad feeling about this as Shinichi pushes the clutch and brake and turns the ignition. His Corvette roars to life as Shinichi shifts it into first gear; by the time they’re away from the pavement, Shinichi has shifted from second into third and is already weaving in and out of traffic.

Clutching the seat and the passenger side door, Kaito has changed his mind. He wishes he could take it back. And that’s the wrong side of the road, there’s a big truck coming—

Shinichi swerves out of the way just in time, but the traffic light is yellow as they reach it.

“Shinichi! LIGHT!” Kaito can’t help but yelp, holding on to his hat.

Shinichi makes it through the intersection five seconds after it turns red, barely avoiding a collision, and Kaito whoops in glee, heart racing.

Shinichi speeds his way across town, breaking many, many traffic laws. It’s impressive but also very, very frightening. It’s a wonder they don’t get pulled over.

He downshifts as they reach the casino, popping the brake and fishtailing into a spin to park neatly against the side, near the stage door.

Kaito gets out the car, legs like jelly.

Shinichi frowns at his parking job. “Could have done that better. Driving on the opposite side of the road has me a little rusty.”

Kaito beams. “Can we do that again?”

Shinichi smirks. “Yeah. Sounds like fun.”

Kaito tucks his arm around Shinichi, opens the door and heads through a short corridor, makes it backstage with about ten minutes to spare. He checks in with the crew first.

“Cutting it close, Kuroba,” says one of the techies, tapping at his watch.

Another one tosses him a bottle of water. “Not like you to be late.”

Kaito grabs the bottle with one hand, acknowledges them both with a nod. “See you in the audience,” he says with a wink to Shinichi.

“Looking forward to the show,” Shinichi says as Kaito has one of the techs take him to the seat that’s always reserved for personal guests. Kaito blows him a kiss in response.

The stage lights are bright and near blinding; a quick conversation with the stage manager shows that everything is fine and in order.

He is not performing an escape tonight, and so does only the most cursory of checks himself. He peeks out from behind the curtain. It might be enough to ruin him. This time, front and center on the middle table sits Shinichi. Kaito is going to make this performance amazing, his best one yet.

He takes a moment to steady himself, checks his props and tricks, and walks to the edge of the stage where they outfit his microphone.

Then dry ice, a popping sound and a burst of smoke, and Kaito appears out of thin air, confident grin on his face.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” he says not to the crowd this time, but to Shinichi, giving him a bow. “It’s showtime!”

 

* * *

 

- **OMAKE** -

 

 

“You know, with the money we spent on power tools and building materials, we could have hired someone to do this,” Shinichi says, his voice a little muffled from the dust mask he’s wearing.

Kaito looks down at him from the stepladder, one hand bracing the wallboard, screw between his fingers, also in a dust mask and safety glasses. “You know, I don’t appreciate that kind of negativity,” he says, waving the drill at him like a gun, then pulling the trigger. It makes a _zzzzzzt_ sound. “We are both fully functional—”

“That’s debatable,” Shinichi mutters.

Kaito ignores him. “—Fully functional able-bodied adults and perfectly capable of building a room ourselves.”

“A secret room.”

“Everyone needs a secret room, Shinichi,” Kaito lectures as he drills the screw into the wall. Shinichi has a feeling his hands would be on his hips if one wasn’t holding up the drywall while the other drilled in a screw.

“Again, that’s debatable.” It has been an interesting learning experience, to be sure. Framing the wall, bracing it, learning the ins and outs of basic construction. Kaito is more familiar with it than he is though, teaching him as they go, and Shinichi has a sneaking suspicion that he may have frequented a few construction sites in disguise.

Actually, as a matter of fact, he’d read about a case once where a large cache of gemstones and money had been found during the remodeling and repair of an office building. He wondered. It wasn’t Kid-related, but…

“We don’t even have a license to do this.”

“Do we even need a license this far out? Surely not?” Kaito says. “Even if we did, it would kind of defeat the purpose of the whole room being ‘secret.’“

“Yeah, but if we ever sell it, and it doesn’t come up to code…” Still, Shinichi can’t deny the results. The room looks _good_ , especially for something made by the hand of two mostly amateurs. Kid’s new lair.

Well, almost.

It’s bones and muscles and nerves right now, wood and insulation and wiring, but the body just needs its outer layer. Half-inch sound resistant double layered gypsum board, damping compound, smaller 2x4s bracing the gap between the studs. About as soundproof as is possible outside commercial methods.

Kaito’s in an athletic shirt and black jeans, and it’s desert hot. The wiring is still exposed, and they don’t want to chance any dangerous electrical mishaps, so they’re both dripping with sweat. He has a tool belt slung low on his waist, and sweat drips down his back from the nape of his neck.

The corner is tight, and Shinichi is pressed against Kaito, his face even with his lower back, hand keeping the wallboard steady as Kaito works his way down the wall.

“If they find it. You were quite insistent on disguising the dimensions of the room.”

“Holmes found the hidden room from the length of the wall not matching up to the dimensions of the other room in ‘The Adventure of the Norwood Builder.’ It’s a viable concern,” Shinichi says.

“Holmes. Of course,” Kaito says, shaking his head. He drills in another screw. “You can let go now.”

Shinichi does. “What do you mean, ‘of course?’ Shinichi asks.

“Nothing~”

“Right,” Shinichi says, clearly not believing it.

“Come on and help me finish. The sooner we get it done, the sooner we can catch that new movie tonight.”

“You don’t mean–” Shinichi starts, mind whirring through the new releases. “You didn’t.”

“Get two tickets to the newest Holmes adaptation? Yes, yes I did.”

Shinichi is speechless.

“You’re welcome,” Kaito says. “Now come help me with the next piece.”

Building a life together. Like constructing a room, piece by piece, putting heart and soul into something to be proud of.

Working together for something greater.

Shinichi helps Kaito hold the next piece of wall up.


	4. [Hearts]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People react.

As soon as Shinichi finishes his shower, he heads out of Kaito's ensuite in borrowed sleepwear, shirtless. He takes a deep breath, jittery. Shinichi knows a little of what's coming. What's supposed to come. Nerves curl inside his stomach and throat, tempering his desire somewhat, making it hard to breathe.

He doesn’t know why it hits him so hard all of the sudden. Maybe it’s the realness of _now_ , the fact that they will soon go beyond idle talk, the fact that it’s not so much want now as expectation.

Maybe it's the uncertainty of where they stand with the other. They’ve only known each other for about two days. Still so new. Maybe it's because he's had time to think about it. The actual consequences of what Shinichi has done are only just now hitting him fully, but he still cannot bring himself to regret any of it. He has enough regrets. He’s tired of them. No more.

Kaito has just finished hanging his suit, his hair still wet from his own shower, and he turns and looks at him, beaming, his hand outstretched. His smile belies his exhaustion, though, his face wan. Now that his make-up is gone, Shinichi sees shadows under his eyes. Faint stress lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes and across his brow, things that weren't there before, or maybe hidden all too well.

Shinichi's fingers twitch, and he places his hand in Kaito's own, links their fingers together. His hands are ice, so Shinichi rubs his thumb over the back of his hand. But they don't talk, and the anxiety sweeps its way through him, settling in his stomach. Kaito leads him to the bed, Shinichi deep in his own mind. Shinichi’s not conscious of Kaito’s curious head tilt, but he does register the tightening of his grip.

Kaito’s show was absolutely brilliant. Of course it was. Shinichi didn’t expect anything else. No wonder it’s considered the best in the world.

As if he can read his mind, Kaito asks, “How was it?” sitting cross-legged on the bed, letting him go.

“Brilliant,” Shinichi admits, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to him. “Well-put together.” In all honesty, he’s impressed. Also a little sad. The phantom thief had come to life once more on that stage, the flickering of moonlit shadows behind his every trick. But it was there just for his performance, tucked away again once the stage lights went down, disappearing into the dark.

Ghosts of what-might-have-beens, haunting them both. Shinichi closes his eyes, clenches his teeth. He may have been just the slightest bit disingenuous earlier. (No, he'd lied. _Again.)_ The fact of the matter is, Shinichi does want to see the phantom thief Kid take to the stage properly again (Don't tell.) He misses the thrill of that chase. How it had been in the very beginning. His pride hadn't let him admit it to Kaito, but Shinichi is too tired of lying to himself to keep up the façade anymore.

Which makes his earlier condemnation all the more hypocritical, even as it was accidental. Kaito has been nothing but honest with him, and Shinichi has repaid him with unkindness. Kaito had really meant it when he said his time as Kid was still with him, that it was who he was, through and through. Shinichi just hadn’t understood what he meant until he'd seen his show. There are shades of it, even now, in his look, in his mannerisms, in his comportment, inextricably tied to the man himself.

Shinichi wants to see him again in his element. The sudden strength of it seizes him, puts his chest in a vice, wells up until he shifts from the excess energy. He shouldn't be encouraging theft, and yet…

And yet...

Shinichi looks at his hands. Would Kaito be happier performing like that again? Shinichi won't be a police detective for much longer. Won't be one here unless he decides to renounce his Japanese citizenship and apply for American citizenship, and he doesn't want to do that. A private detective suits his needs just fine. “You were amazing,” he says.

Kaito takes the opportunity to stretch across the bed, putting his head in Shinichi's lap, but tentatively, almost like he expects Shinichi to shove him off. Shinichi doesn’t, of course, and then Kaito seems to relax against his thigh. “Mmm. A compliment. More than I was expecting from a critic.”

Shinichi hasn't heard that appellation in a while. “You say that like I’m not capable of saying nice things about you, stupid,” Shinichi says with a soft huff, brushing his fringe away from his forehead, smoothing away the fine lines there.

Kaito smiles, looking up at him with a fond expression, and Shinichi's heart eases. “I am curious though, how many tricks did the great Modern Holmes get?”

“Most of them,” Shinichi admits. He proceeds to rattle some of them off. “The box trick is obviously two different women, you used reverse psychology, specifically equivocation, to make the man pick the card you wanted him to, the suitcase trick was done with a trapdoor and mirrors, the teleportation trick was done by cross-dressing as one of your assistants and blending in as they crossed the stage, but I have to admit the last one bothered me. You walked on air with no strings, no mirrors, no smoke, no harness, no lift device hidden behind the curtain. No assistance that I could see.”

“And that, Shinichi, Is why I have job security!” Kaito says, glib, beaming up at him. “No one has been able to figure it out yet.”

Shinichi hmms. It’s certainly a difficult challenge, but he'd get it eventually. “You surprised your stage support. They clearly weren't expecting you to perform it tonight. They don't have a hand in helping with the trick?” he probes.

Kaito laughs. “Not that one, no. Though I really shouldn't have done it with so little preparation.”

Shinichi frowns. “Preparation? It's something you need to prepare for that much for?”

“In a way,” Kaito says, vague. Hiding his tricks, as per the usual. But the way he frames it doesn’t exactly sit right with Shinichi. There’s something about that last act in his performance, something more, something Shinichi’s missed somewhere.

But there are more pressing things. “Are you normally this exhausted after your shows?” Shinichi asks. Kaito doesn’t answer, and that’s answer enough. Instead, Kaito reaches up and tucks his cold hands against Shinichi's side, causing him to jump.

“Ah! Cold!” Shinichi says. He scrambles away backwards towards the center of the bed, half in jest. Kaito chases after him on his hands and knees, leaning forward so that he is half over him, knee between his legs, staring at him intently.

“But now I have you here to warm me up,” Kaito says, voice rough, and he looks at him through hooded eyes.

Shinichi loses the ability to breathe. Such long lashes, framing vibrant irises nearly fractal. Striations in the fibrous tissue of the stroma make each one more unique than a fingerprint; they draw him in, and Shinichi is lost in that abyss, blue steadily receding as Kaito’s interest shows in the dilation of his pupils.

Something heavy hangs between them for a long moment. Shinichi leans forward to kiss him—

He stops, nearly frozen at Kaito’s proximity. His eyes are stars, almost seeming to glow with their own inner fire in the dim light. His breath is hot against his cheek, and Shinichi can see the bright lights of the city behind him through the window, illuminating him.

Las Vegas, a man-made oasis in a desert stretching for miles, full of mirage: the city of money, of greed, of illusion, of sin, of neon lights and fever dreams. The city of obsession, and loss, and heartbreak.

The city where the Kaitou Kid has made his home. Fitting. Shinichi finds it hard to believe that this isn’t phantasmagoria, that he will wake alone and find the last several days to be nothing but a dream.

The city, an illusion. The man himself, a fox spirit considering his mischievousness, his preternatural ability to disguise, lighting the uncertain path to Shinichi’s future with flickering fox fire. _Don’t be nothing but a dream_. “Please don’t go,” Shinichi whispers despite himself.

Kaito shakes his head, then runs the back of his hand down Shinichi’s face, lingering on his cheek, thumbing his lower lip. “I'm not going anywhere,” he says before closing the distance and pressing their mouths together.

The world stops, and Shinichi hangs in midair, lost in the moment. There’s something different about this kiss, something _more_ than the handful of others they’d shared. A sharp, almost painful spark at first, like touching a live wire. It jolts him _alive_ , filling that vast emptiness inside him with something crackling, hungry, and fierce. There's ruination in this kiss, something irrevocable and raw, wholly visceral, that strips Shinichi down to his bones and leaves him shivering.

But the kiss itself is soft, patient, and it tastes like forever. Gentle, almost. There’s electricity, yes, coursing through and settling low inside him. Kaito takes his time, kissing him. It’s not like before. Shinichi...hasn’t been kissed like this in a long time, like he’s something precious, like he’s a lifetime and not a distraction.

Shinichi reaches out, hesitant, tracing a line down Kaito from shoulder to stomach, splaying his hands across the span of his ribs, settling one over Kaito's heart, marvelling at his porcelain pale skin, the dip of his hips. He thinks, _I've got the moonlight in my hands._ Light freckles, dotting his skin like stars; Shinichi traces stories from point to point, over the skin of his chest, down the lines of his abdomen, up the strength of his forearm to the delicate curve of his shoulder, the entire night sky, vast and open. Corded muscle under skin as soft and as precious as silk velvet, firm and yielding and _real_. A warming hand settles around the curve of his back, another on the back of his neck, fingers nesting in his hair, pulling him over for another kiss.

Shinichi could happily die here, just like this, killed by a kiss.

Shinichi tugs Kaito down to the sheets beside him. He smells like old aftershave and sweat and stale makeup, but it's uniquely Kaito, and so help him, Shinichi can’t get enough of it, pressing his nose against the underside of his jaw and inhaling deeply, touching his lips to his neck, tasting the salt on his skin.

“What is this?” he asks against the thundering of Kaito's pulse and the rapid beat of his own heart.

“I don't know,” comes Kaito’s whispered answer, want threaded through, fingers still in Shinichi’s hair, twined and tight, other hand trailing down to settle on the curve of his hip.

Shinichi mouths his lip, biting gently with his teeth, and straddles him.

Kaito _whimpers_. The sound reverberates through Shinichi, shaking him to his core. Such gentle devastation, wrecking him utterly.

He licks into Shinichi's mouth; Shinichi drinks of him deeply, tongues sliding against one another's. He tastes of cinnamon and fire, making little needy noises Shinichi swallows. It’s not just his hands that are cold, though they are warming. His entire body is cool to the touch. Shinichi's running hot. Touch, taste, sound, smell, sight; Kaito surrounds him utterly, and for a moment, it’s too much; Shinichi is absolutely drunk on Kaito's _everything_ , and yet still he wants more.

Overwhelmed, Shinichi pulls away, but only just. “How did we get here?” Shinichi breathes, looking down at him. Kaito's watching him with such a peculiar expression.

“I don't know,” Kaito repeats, sounding lost. “Shinichi, I—” he swallows. “Let me love you. _Please._ Let me love you,” he whispers.

Shinichi doesn't quite catch it. “Hmm?”

Kaito shakes his head. “Nevermind.” He kisses him again, slow, lingering, caressing Shinichi's cheek. He shivers.

Shinichi loses track of time. The world slows to a crawl, slipping away except for this; soft breaths ghosting across his skin, fingers entwining with his, kiss after kiss after kiss after kiss.

Hands, trailing down, down, down as two lost souls find each other for the first time.

Slow exploration turns to urgent need, wanton hunger. Voices fading into the night, calling names, epithets, curses, prayers.

The ascent and _then_ —

—the fall, reaching terminal velocity.

And then—

“Shinichi!” Kaito gasps, _broken_.

“I've got you,” Shinichi breathes, lying when he doesn't even have himself, and holds him close, completely wrung out, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

Kaito's crying as he clings to Shinichi, shaking in the aftermath. It's reflexive, Shinichi thinks. Not a loud thing. He doesn't think Kaito is even aware he’s doing it.

Shinichi isn’t unaffected. It had been nothing like he'd expected. Shinichi might not survive if it is like this every time.

It leaves him too— _raw aching vulnerable—_ he doesn't really know how to describe it in a way that makes any sense outside the vastness of his heart.

Driven by an impulse he cannot name, Shinichi cups Kaito's face in his hands, and licks the path of shining tears from chin to cheek, first the left, and then the right. It tastes of salt and a hint of something else, something inscrutable.

He's a little self-conscious of it and he almost expects Kaito to say something about it. Instead, he just clings to Shinichi harder, sucking in a shuddering breath, pressed against the hollow of his throat.

“Good?” Kaito slurs into his neck.

“Good,” Shinichi says.

“Mmmmmmm, good,” Kaito mumbles, content.

Shinichi measures him for a long moment, then rolls over on his side and pulls Kaito into his arms. “C’mere.” Kaito's facing him, his head tucked against his chest, and Shinichi wraps a leg over his hip and pulls him closer. He presses a soft kiss to the top of his tangled hair.

Kaito buries his face in his chest, tucking himself under his neck and letting out a sleepy whine.

“Childish,” Shinichi says.

“Kid,” Kaito mumbles against his skin. It kind of tickles. Shinichi shifts a little.

“Like that's an excuse.”

Kaito makes an unintelligible noise and burrows deeper, hooking one of Shinichi's legs with his own until they're hopelessly entangled.

“Uh-huh,” Shinichi says, unimpressed. But his hand settles over Kaito's side, and he sweeps his hand across his back, rubbing it gently. Something large and heavy settles at the bottom of his heart, expanding and filling him with a strange feeling.

It’s not love right now—how could it be?—but it is compatibility. Contentment. Understanding. Potential. And for Shinichi, that’s enough.

Shinichi pulls back a little so he can see him, and Kaito shifts over, turning his head. He blinks slowly, close to sleep. “Do you think it’s fate?” he asks Shinichi dreamily.

“Hmm?”

“Y’know, A fated encounter—meeting all those years ago and meeting again now—almost like it was meant to be,” he says, yawning.

The feeling in his heart grows. “I don't believe in fate,” Shinichi tells him.

“That’s okay,” Kaito says, patting his arm. “I’ll believe for the both of us. It'd be nice if you were my destiny,” he says _‘You and me are destined, you'll agree, to spend the rest of our lives with each other,’_ Kaito sings from nowhere. Shinichi is momentarily taken aback.

“What?”

“‘ _We’ll spend the rest of our lives with each other, the rest of our days like two lovers, Forever,”_ Kaito sings. “Forever,” he repeats, this time a whisper. “Would you love me forever?” he asks, voice filled with sleep. His eyes are closed.

“Love you forever?” Shinichi asks, thinking. Forever wouldn’t be too bad. Not if he could spend it like this.

“Mmhmm,” Kaito says.

Shinichi hmms. “Yeah. But only until forever.“

“Just until then?” Kaito says, and he sounds despondent.

Shinichi presses another kiss to his head and a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. A spade meets a clover against a backdrop of diamonds and they join hearts. “Forever is as far as I’ll go, I'm afraid.”

A future, he thinks as Kaito falls asleep in his arms, his breaths steadily slowing. Their future. As they hold one another, the city bustles and the world spins without a thought to them, caught as they are in such a private moment.

And Shinichi has no regrets.

-The End-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**[Coda]**

 

**I.**

 

It's late when Heiji finally finds his way back to the hotel. He heads up to his and Kazuha’s room almost on autopilot, wanting nothing but sleep since he's going on about thirty-six hours awake. He cracks a yawn, tries to stay alert despite feeling like the undead, but it's hard. He doesn't want to do anything but sleep at this point and worry about that stupid stuff tomorrow.

So of course Ran is sitting on the bed with Kazuha holding hands as he enters. He almost lets out an audible groan. He really doesn't want to deal with this. Both of them are already dressed for bed, but that doesn't mean they won't interrogate him.

“Heiji-kun…? Did you find him?” Ran asks as soon as Heiji enters the room he shares with Kazuha, before he can even get his bearings.

Both hands in his pockets, he lets out a great big sigh. “Yeah, Nee-chan. I did.”

“Is he all right?” Ran asks, wringing her hands. She's tired, as are they all, her posture slumped.

Heiji frowns, shifting to keep life in his tingling feet. “He's fine. Don't worry 'bout him. He says he'll be back in time for your ceremony tomorrow.”

Kazuha speaks up. “Heiji. You were gone for a long time too, and you didn't call or nothin’ neither.”

“Yeah. Took me a bit to find him, that's all. Had a lead. Didn't want to give Nee-chan false hope if I couldn't find him, you know?” He emphatically doesn't want to deal with the fallout of Kudō's choices. That's on him. From hiding the truth from her then to whatever wild thing he's on about now.

“Did he say—Why didn't he come back with you?” Ran asks.

“I think it’ll be better if he tells you that, Nee-chan.” He puts his hand on her shoulder. “Now why don't you head off to bed. I'm sure your husband is lookin’ for you.”

Ran looks almost startled, like she'd forgotten she was married. Heiji ain't one to judge, but this whole situation is damn complicated. He's glad he ain't in the middle of it, but it does bother him that it affects several people he cares about.

But people gotta be free to make their own way and their own mistakes. He hates it but there ain't nothing he can do about it but be there for them in the fallout.

“You know what's going on?” she asks.

“I know where he's at, and he's safe,” Heiji reassures her. At times like this, he's reminded how selfish Kudō can be sometimes. It wouldn't have hurt him to set the lady's mind at ease. Course, he’s nursing his own wounds, too. A damn complicated situation all around. Don't matter how this situation will end up, someone is gonna get hurt.

“Thanks, Heiji-kun,” Ran says. “I just wish he'd—” she lets out an unhappy little sigh, hugging herself. “At least he was open with you.”

Heiji can't help but laugh at that. Kudō? Open? Ha! “More like I pried it outta him. He'll be back tomorrow, so don't you worry.” And if he doesn't show up, Heiji will drag him out by his ear if he has to.

Ran leaves, and Heiji finally lets out that sigh he's been holding in.

“Where was Shinichi-kun?” Kazuha asks him once they're alone. Heiji sits on the bed next to her, stripping down to his boxers.

“I wasn't gonna tell Nee-chan,” Hattori says. “And you ain't gonna tell her either, all right?” he says, crossing his arms and tilting his head up. “Kudō's gonna tell her tomorrow. I made sure of it.” He shuffles under the covers. Kazuha joins him.

“Heiji—” she warns.

“All right?” He stresses again.

“All right!” Kazuha says, exasperated.

“I found him in a weddin’ chapel gettin’ married.”

“What?!” Kazuha shrieks. Heiji winces at the volume, rubbing his ear. “Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack, Kazuha. You know I wouldn't joke 'bout something like this.”

“But why?”

“You know why as well as I do.”

Kazuha pauses, considering, hand on her chin. “Who was the bride?”

“Groom.”

“Well, Shinichi-kun was the groom! I asked who the bride was, stupid!” Kazuha grumbles.

“No, Kudō was gettin’ married to a man, dummy! If you would just listen!”

“What the hell?” Kazuha says, stunned. “I didn't know Shinichi-kun was,” her voice falls.

“Well, it ain't somethin’ that you exactly talk about openly, Kazuha. I didn't even suspect either.” And that kind of burned a bit, that Kudō felt he couldn't trust him with that kind of thing. It's not like it would have changed anything between them. Kudō was his best friend for better or worse.

“Who’s the groom, then?”

“Some kind of magician by the name of Kuroba Kaito.”

“Is he foreign? That name’s Japanese.”

“Yeah, he's originally from Japan. Tokyo, as a matter of fact. Kudō says they're old friends.”

“‘Kudō says?’ What? You don't believe 'im?”

“I know they weren't friends, Kazuha. I know each an’ every time they've met, and it ain't been a lot. I ain't never met the guy before today!”

“Why does it bother you so much?” Kazuha asks.

“'Cause I don't want him gettin’ hurt! That guy could be usin’ him!”

“But you met him, right? What was your impression?”

“I don't know that I can trust my impression!” Kaitou Kid was the master of disguise! He could act like anyone, be anybody! “But,” Heiji took a deep breath. “He seemed like a nice guy. Raked me over the coals for lettin’ Kudō go off on his own. Says he found him half dead from drink. Don't tell that to Nee-chan.”

Kazuha lets out a gasp, hands flying to her mouth. “Poor Shinichi-kun! And you don't know why Kudō married him?” Kazuha asks.

“I know exactly why Kudō married him. What I don't get is why that guy married Kudō!”

“Why did Shinichi-kun marry him, then?”

Hattori lets out a sigh, falls back to the bed beside Kazuha. “You know why.”

“Ran,” Kazuha says. “Even after all this time, he still…”

“Yeah. But he made him laugh, Kazuha. I'd forgotten how he looked without all those lines weighin’ down on his face. He looked _happy._ That's the first time in a long time I've seen him that way.”

“Is that why you let him stay there?”

Heiji lets out another sigh. “It really ain't none of my business, anyway. But what's that Kuroba guy gettin' out of it?”

Kazuha says a little hesitantly, “Maybe he was lonely too.”

“What?”

“It must be hard, movin’ to a new country, leavin' everythin’ behind. And even if they never really met all that much, it might still be a touch of home. We did what we could, but well,” she reaches out and grabs his hand. “Shinichi-kun is very lonely, too.”

Heiji frowns. Could it really be that simple?

He doesn't realize he's said it aloud until Kazuha huffs. “You detectives think too much, sometimes, especially about matters of the heart,” she says in answer to his question. “For once, why don't you let it be? Always so suspicious. Sometimes, you just gotta believe in the good of people.”

“Believe in the good of people, huh?”

“He bawled you over for not watchin’ over your friend, _and_ yousay he makes him happy. I don't think he can be a bad person.”

“Yeah,” Heiji says. “Now that you say it, yeah.” It doesn't preclude some secret agenda, which Heiji can easily believe of _that_ guy, but he decides to trust Shinichi's judgement.

“You can watch him tomorrow and decide for yourself,” Heiji says, reaching over and flipping off the light. Kazuha rolls over on his arm, back to his chest, and his other hand settles about her waist. “When did you get so wise?”

“Havin’ to deal with bein’ married to you,” Kazuha says.

Heiji can't help but laugh. It's true enough. “‘Night, 'zuha,” he says, pulling her tight, kissing her, and pressing a protective hand against her stomach.

“Mmm. ‘Night, Heiji.”

 

**II.**

 

Ran’s pacing outside the hall. Shinichi’s still not here yet, and it’s awfully close to the time of the wedding. The day before yesterday had been the showy ceremony for a large portion of their local friends and acquaintances: the ones Eisuke had met on his journey in the FBI. Today is supposed to be a smaller ceremony and reception for those that couldn't make it yesterday, alongside close friends and family who could make the trip, financed in part by Shinichi and Sonoko's family. Ran thinks two ceremonies are a little much, and she would have liked to have this one back in Japan, but it was a compromise she and Eisuke had agreed on after much arguing.

But she refuses to stand at the altar without Shinichi by her side.

Shinichi left a note saying he’d be back later, but no one's seen or heard from him in over twenty-four hours, except for Heiji. Heiji knows where he is, and she trusts his judgment, but Ran’s wedding party is in a dull, subdued mood. Most of her friends are his friends too, and they're all worried.

He'd seemed distracted and down the day before yesterday, like he was putting on a brave face for her. She sighs. Why he thinks he can still hide himself from her she doesn’t know. She can read him so easily.

Ran wishes it were as easy as it had seemed when they were children. Then, it seemed like love conquered all. The perspective gained by adulthood dimmed that idealistic notion. Time had taught her that love wasn’t enough. They’d tried, _oh_ how they tried to make it work. But Shinichi kept pulling away when they were romantically involved; she'd tried pulling back, but for the sake of her heart and her sanity she finally had to let him go. She still loves him deeply, but Ran and Shinichi have settled into a deep and abiding friendship instead.

It's not as if she loves Eisuke any less. He's a kind man, a wonderful friend, a better lover.

But she and Shinichi have been friends since preschool and all that entails. They're family, if not by blood. So she worries. She'd never hurt him intentionally, but both of them have made choices they’ll have to live with for the rest of their lives for better or for worse.

Ran reaches the end of the corridor, about to turn and pace the hall again, when the elevator around the corner dings, the door opens, and a familiar voice sounds out.

“—still not sure if I'm ready,” Shinichi says.

Shinichi! She's about to call out to him when an unfamiliar voice stops her. “You know, you don't have to put yourself through this.” It's a man's voice.

“I'm not a coward.”

A placating tone. “I didn't say you were, Detective. But you are only human.”

“That's no excuse. I made a promise. It's not really that, anyway.”

“Are you afraid of what people will say, then? Do you want me to be your dirty little secret?” A bitter laugh. “It's a little late for that. We’re all over the tabloids.”

Tabloids? Dirty little secret? Just what has Shinichi been up to? It almost sounds like—

“I know,” Shinichi scoffs. “Now who’s making assumptions? Please. I've never been afraid of going against popular opinion. You know it's not about us at all. I,” he pauses. “I just don't want to hurt her,” he says, voice soft. “I've already done that far too much.”

She stiffens, pressing herself against the wall.

“What would hurt her worse, then? Telling her now, or her finding out on her own later?”

“Personal experience?” Shinichi asks.

“Personal experience,” the voice confirms.

“Is that why she didn't—”

“Probably,” the voice admits. “But I thought we were past things like that.”

“You'll stay?” Shinichi pleads.

“Of course. Won't be the first wedding I've crashed.”

“Will it make the papers, too?” Shinichi asks.

Another pause.

“Probably,” he and the voice say at the same time.

“Disadvantages of being a household name,” the man continues. “Though I didn't think I was famous enough to warrant that mass of paparazzi outside my hotel this morning.”

“Well, if they really need something to talk about,” Shinichi says, voice leading, and if Ran didn't know better, she'd say Shinichi was _flirting._

“Shinichi, I thought you'd never ask,” the voice says, fond with a heated edge.

There's silence. That gives Ran the courage to poke her head around the corner. She gets her first glimpse of the mystery man as he is pinning Shinichi to the side of the hallway so all she can see is his back, a mess of wild hair, hands grasping Shinichi’s lapels as he leans into him, and it doesn't take a detective to deduce they're kissing.

The bottom of Ran’s heart drops.

Ran places her hand over her mouth, retreating back to the hall to give them space, her mind whirring. Heiji's voice comes to her unbidden, “ _I think it's better if he tells you.”_

That! Augh! He's stupid! She's stupid for worrying about him all night when he was just out doing who-knows-what with what-knows-who. And Heiji knew! He knew about it last night or he wouldn't have been so evasive when she asked him about Shinichi! They're both stupid!

She can feel sharp burning behind her eyes but she ignores it, stalking back to the small room she's been using to get ready and touching up on her make-up angrily.

Shinichi didn't even have the courtesy to let them know where he was going or what he was doing, or when he'd be back, and then he arrives just minutes before the wedding is supposed to begin proper and starts necking with a strange man!

Who _is_ that guy anyway? Ran wonders, looking at herself in the mirror. Her hand falters, and she places down her brush. She looks lost and hurt and a little afraid, and it takes ten years off her, making her look like a young girl again.

When did things get so complicated?

When they grew up?

But Ran still feels the same way she did when she was a child. Adulthood hasn't changed anything inside her at all. Was it the world that changed around her? Why does she feel so lost?

She touches her hand to the mirror.

“Did you just see that look on Eisuke-kun’s face, Ran?” Sonoko asks, hands on her hips and a frown on her face. “Seriously, like he just walked by all slumped over and shaking with a really pale face, like he'd seen a murder or a ghost or something.” She sits down heavily in the chair next to Ran, adjusting the skirts of her pale blue dress.

Ran doesn't answer, still lost in thought. It's not as if she minds seeing him with someone else, that's not it at all. She's happy for him. She really is. She doesn't want him to be lonely, and they're clearly into one another. It's just he didn’t tell her. She didn't even know he was seeing anyone. She thought they'd gotten to a point where they actually talked.

Guess not, and it _hurts_.

“Hey, Ran?” Sonoko asks, waving her hand in front of her face. “Ran?” she asks again when Ran doesn't give her a response. ”Earth to Ran!”

“Huh?” Ran blinks.

A sigh as Sonoko rubs her forehead. “Nevermind,” she says.

That's when Shinichi strolls into the room with bruised lips and mussed hair like nothing has happened.

“Where have you been?” Sonoko yells, but Shinichi ignores her, instead watching Ran, as if he’s waiting for her reaction. “It’s almost time!”

“Sorry,” Shinichi says. “My phone died and I lost track of time.”

Lie, she thinks. An expression crosses Ran’s face; she doesn’t know what it is, too caught up in a swirl of emotion, but Shinichi flinches at it. “We should get started,” she says. “Everyone else is already here.” Shinichi flinches again.

She doesn't know if the excuse makes it better or worse. She might have believed it if she hadn't seen him in the hallway, even, and that infuriates her.

Sonoko interrogates him, but Ran ignores their byplay, not wanting to hear what must be excuses.

Kazuha is just staring at him hard, considering. Considering, but not surprised. The corner of Ran's mouth tugs up despite it all; she must have gotten it from Heiji last night.

Ran floats through the proceedings, dazed, like she's watching it from outside her body. She's still trying to process it; it seems unreal. Shinichi is most emphatically not the type to have a tryst with a stranger. But he did, and she doesn't know how to feel.

Eisuke seems shaken as well. His sister Hidemi is standing with him, across from Shinichi, shooting him concerned looks, but he keeps glancing at Shinichi for some reason. However Shinichi ignores him, keeps his eyes somewhere towards the back of the room.

It's midway through their vows that Ran sees what he's looking at. In the back of the room, next to the door is a figure leaning casually against the wall with his hands in his pockets. Deliberately styled rat's nest hair. Distressed and torn blue jeans, red high-top Converse with one dirty foot planted on the expensive wall in a show of rebellious nonchalance. He's wearing a scraggly red bow tie loose around his neck, an untucked dress shirt, a creased suit jacket, and a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses. He's also chewing gum with his mouth open and Ran thinks she can hear the smacking from here.

Shinichi's mystery man.

He doesn't seem like the kind of man who would be Shinichi's type, though. Not that Ran really knows. They never really talked about it, though she's aware of his inclinations; he cares for intellect and verve above all else. And she can't really see his face, though he looks somewhat familiar. She blinks, turns her attention back to the wedding. She’ll have a chance to grill him after the wedding—if they stick around.

They do.

After Ran and Eisuke have done the pleasantries, tossed the bouquet and cut the cake and danced, she's free to mingle with her guests.

It is a party, after all.

She sees Shinichi getting harangued by his mother. Good. Ran's not the only one irritated at him, then. She walks up to them.

“—and your father and I had absolutely NO idea where you were and after,” a look in Ran’s direction, “after that case you just can't do that to us, Shin-chan. You just can't.”

“Where is Dad anyway?” Shinichi says, annoyed. “I already told you my phone died.”

“That's beside the point! In this modern age, there are plenty of alternatives! You could have found a way! Where were you?” Kudō Yukiko asks. “And what is that on your finger?”

That's when Shinichi's mystery man appears from seemingly out of nowhere, hooking an arm around his shoulders, a glint of gold on the hand draped over Shinichi's shoulder.

And oh, Ran lets out a little gasp.

They're wearing matching rings. Gold bands to be exact, though the unnamed man is wearing what looks like an expensive engagement ring on top of that. It's really pretty, if not exactly masculine. The man doesn't even seem like he cares, flaunting it, looking at Shinichi like he's the only person in the world.

Kudō Yukiko squeals. “Kuroba-kun?!”

Wait, Shinichi’s mother recognizes him?

“Shin-chan, you didn't!”

“Hello,” the man says with a beatific smile. Ran's heart nearly skips a beat, much to her chagrin.

“Hi!” Shinichi's mom continues to gush. “I've seen your show! I've been meaning to stop by and talk to you personally for ages, but I've just never had time! You've grown up to be so handsome!”

“Shinichi told me you were a fan,” the man demurs. A fan, Ran wonders, bewildered. A fan of what? What show? “He didn't tell me you were stunning.”

“Charming, too! You don't remember meeting me when you were small? Oh, you would have been six or so. I was your father's student! Small world!”

The man’s eyes widen. “You were the grandm—” Yukiko glares. He quickly endeavours to correct himself. “The grand and beautiful auntie my old man introduced me to. I gave you a flower, if I'm recalling it correctly.”

“You did, Kuroba-kun!”

“Please, call me Kaito since you are my mother-in-law.”

“You got _married_!?” Yukiko squeals. “Shin-chan!”

Shinichi and Kuroba exchange significant looks. “It was a spur-of-the-moment thing,” Shinichi says. “Not planned at all. One thing led to another and then,” Shinichi shrugs.

“Welcome to the family, Kuroba-kun!” Yukiko says. “But how could you get married without me?” she asks, pouting. “And to little Kaito-chan of all people? I didn’t even know you were—”

“I don’t recall you needing to be a vital part of the proceedings,” Shinichi says, cutting her off, testy. “And yes, I figured that out quite some time ago.”

 _Married_?

“Shinichi?” Ran asks, voice uncertain. Her fingers find her dress, and she grips the fabric desperate for something to hold on to.

 _But married_?

That gets his attention.

“R-Ran,” he says.

Yukiko looks between them. “Shin-chan, I think I'm going to go find your father.” She takes the moment to discreetly remove herself from the conversation. Ran is grateful for her consideration.

“You got married?” she asks, searching his eyes. She was having trouble with the whole dating thing, and to find out instead that he’s _**married**_?

To Shinichi’s credit, he doesn’t flinch or look away this time, but holds her gaze. “I did. I’m sorry if it takes away from your day, it wasn’t meant to,” he stops, looking unsure. “I'm sorry,” he repeats.

Ran is still trying to wrap her mind around it, but some part of her realizes that she's being rude, and in the absence of steady ground to stand on, she defaults to those practiced motions of politeness. “Well, aren't you going to introduce me to your husband?” she asks, and to her relief, her voice does not falter on the last word.

“Right,” he says, looking relieved. “So this is Kuroba Kaito. My uh, husband.”

“I do like hearing you say that, Shinichi darling,” the man purrs.

Meeting Ran’s eyes with an inscrutable gaze, he steps forward holding his hand out, with an easy smile. “You are the fair flower Ran, I gather,” Kuroba says, tucking a loose strand of hair that had fallen from her chignon behind her ear, but there's a weight that wasn't there before; she reaches up and finds an orchid there.

“Yes,” she says.

Ran holds out her hand; he doesn't shake it. Instead, he bows low, presses a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “ _Enchantè_ , _madame_.” His lips linger. Ran's eyes flicker to Shinichi, but he's just watching them both with amusement. “I must say, you are a divine sight this evening. A beautiful woman such as yourself always has permission to call me Kaito.”

“And you are just a base flatterer,” Ran says, charmed despite herself. Shinichi's husband has _manners_ even though he came to a wedding dressed like that as an uninvited guest.

“A flatterer, yes, but not base. Never base. I find that gauche. I mean every word, my dear.” And he enjoys laying it on thick, too. She tells him that, and he laughs.

“Shinichi has told me so much about you,” Kuroba says.

“That's interesting. I know absolutely nothing about you,” Ran says sweetly.

He inclines his head. “A fair point,” he says, but he does not elaborate.

“So who are you?” Ran presses.

“Just a man,” he says, and Shinichi blinks at his words, a little startled for some reason, but he follows it with a blinding smile.

And it tells Ran _nothing._ To the point, then.

“What are your intentions towards Shinichi?” She takes an aggressive step forward, planting her feet firmly in a base karate stance. Kuroba almost takes a step back, hands up in defense.

“Isn't it a little late to be asking that?” Kuroba asks, amused.

Ran crosses her arms.

“His mother gave me her approval?”

Ran narrows her eyes.

He holds his hands up in surrender.

“Spirit willing, I plan to have and to hold for a very, very long time.” He shifts, looks down for a moment, not meeting her eyes. “As a matter of fact, until death do us part. Consider him my kept man.”

“Hey, hey!” Shinichi says.

“Oh?” Ran says. “Your kept man, huh?”

“He won't want for anything, and I will do my very best to keep him happy.”

“Don't I get a say in this?” Shinichi asks.

Both of them turn at once to him and say, “No!” then look at one another with approval.

“I do mean the part about his happiness, my dear,” Kuroba says.

Ran turns to Shinichi. “Does he make you happy?

Shinichi smiles, his expression soft and fond. “He does.”

“Is this—is everything all right?” _Will everything be all right between us,_ she doesn’t say.

“It is, Ran. For the first time in a long time, I think it really is.”

“Good.” She kisses Shinichi on the cheek. “I'm happy that you're happy.” Some part of her will always ache with their might-have-been, but she's sincere. Shinichi's been her best friend since they were toddlers, just about. Nothing could ever make her cut him out of her life, not even this surprise. She throws her arms around him and he tucks her into his chest. “I'm glad.”

 

**III.**

 

Considering what Shinichi has sprung on her today, the grace with which Hondō Ran has handled herself speaks well of her.

So Kaito takes a step back at the kiss, turns away at the intimate embrace, leaving them to their conversation. He can acknowledge its necessity but he doesn't have to see it. Kaito fades back into the crowd with the ease of over a thousand performances. He has to take a moment, get some fresh air or something.

All these people here are ones Shinichi knows. It’s a lot of people. He knows little of them. And for all he’s used to either the intimate arrangement of fancy tables or the full row seating of the theater stage, the thick crowd of his heists filled with people screaming his name and only his, it is overwhelming to be alone in a crowded room. He closes his eyes, lets the sound of the music and the slow susurrus of the crowd flow through him, basking in the old familiar sounds of the Japanese language.

It's easy to forget just how much he'd missed the language, the people, but being here is bringing it all back.

As well as the reason he left. His stomach churns thinking about it, but he has to get over it eventually. Will he ever be first in anyone's heart? Ah, such an unworthy, unsightly thought, but he cannot help how he feels.

Out of place. Even more so now that Shinichi and the woman who is his lodestar are talking in confidence. He went into this relationship with full knowledge of their history, but jealousy burns low and hard in his gut. He ignores it with the ease of someone used to swallowing his reactions and putting on an act. He rubs his mouth.

He’s only human, and so he is jealous, but doesn't blame Shinichi for his lingering affections, nor does Kaito act on his feelings. He learnt that lesson a long time ago, and he chooses to trust, now. Shinichi promised to build a life together, and Kaito believes him. He's not so insecure in their relationship, even as new as it is, as to act territorial and brutish. He is above that. He has to be above that.

Kuroba Kaito will _always_ be a gentleman first. He doesn't expect anything he's given freely to be returned. Relationships are not checks and balances, not investments upon which one should expect a return.

People are not things.

He meanders through said crowd towards the food, lifting a glass of champagne from a server as he walks by, knocking it back without tasting it and pocketing the flute afterwards as per habit. The table’s an interesting tableau of traditional Japanese food and American fusion foods and desserts. Abruptly, another wave of homesickness overtakes Kaito, and he has to lean against the table to get his bearings.

He thought he was past this.

Not American. He doesn't really feel Japanese, either, not anymore, not after half a decade of living in a foreign country. It’s a bizarre, almost supernatural experience. Things that once seemed so familiar, now alien and strange.

He thinks of Betty at the diner and her struggle to work and go to school and raise her daughter by herself and her bright personality despite it all, of Zara and their talks about politics deep into the night and her dreams of making it as a headliner, of Tony and his love for fast cars and old music, of standing in a hot kitchen making tamales with Lupe and Miguel as they banter back and forth in Spanish he half understands.

Brief sparks of happiness in an existence otherwise devoid of it.

How much of himself did he lose in the trembling of that night when he decided enough was enough?

Too much.

He fills a plate, wonders if it's worth it to discretely check for poison considering Shinichi's track record, wanders to the drinks.

Oh, and there’s the groom by the drink table, talking to a woman who looks similar enough to him to be his sister, the one who stood with him as best “man,” both of them in the black suits that seem to be the FBI’s casual wear, rather than tuxedos. Hondō Eisuke is lean and slender-boned, yet he has the muscle of a field agent. His large eyes, cherubic nose, and full lips make him model pretty; assuredly a detriment in his profession.

Kaito steps towards him, setting his plate on the table. “I hear congratulations are in order?” Kaito says, giving him a showman’s smile.

He stares at him for the longest time. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Kuroba Kaito,” Kaito says, expecting that response—he did sort of crash the wedding—and he has to fight not to smile when Hondō starts and does a double take.

“THE Kuroba Kaito?” he says faintly. “World-renowned magician? ‘Greatest since Houdini?’”

Oh? Kaito bows with a flourish. “That’s what they say.” Kaito has little choice in the matter, for all they praise him. He continues to perform because it is one of the few things that let himself feel—at least until recently. “You've seen my show?” he says with some surprise.

“Not personally, but I recognize the name. My supervisor was inspired and impressed. He says some of your techniques have practical field applications and attempted to adapt them. What you doing here?” he sounds so bewildered. Kaito is not far from it. Shinichi is one thing, but knowledge that some certain of his skills have helped other investigators is...strange.

“Existentially or in this particular location?” Kaito asks. “Because I have commentary on both, if you'd like.” The man blinks, so Kaito sighs and says, “I'm here with Shinichi.”

“How do you know Kudō?” Hondō asks, curious.

“Intimately,” Kaito says, just to see how he reacts and he has to swallow a grin when the man sputters and turns red at the implication. How has he made it as an alphabet agent with such open emotions, Kaito wonders. He'd be so easy to hustle. Kaito's fingers itch, and he's tempted to pick pocket him. Just to keep in practice. Maybe test how well they'd supposedly adapted them.

“T-that’s not what I meant!” Hondō says.

“You did ask.”

Hondō blinks again. “Oh, wait a minute. You’re the one who kissed him in the hallway,” he says. Kaito hadn’t realized he’d seen that.

“He's my husband? Spouses do that?” Kaito says.

“H-husband?” he sputters, turning pale. “Husband?” he repeats.

“Happily married, thank you,” Kaito says, perfect poker face in place, though he feels a little sick at this reaction. It’s a little extreme. “Is that really any way for you to act?” he says, turning to the table and rearranging a few of the drinks for his hands to have something to do. Yes, they’d kissed in public, but regardless of their words, it had been in what they thought was a deserted hallway.

“It's just surprising!” he says, hands up, waving them. “Kudō just never struck me as that type.”

“‘That type?’” Ah. Kaito had expected something to be said along those lines, but not so soon and not from this quarter. He grabs a cola can from the artfully arranged ice, secreting it away.

“I mean—”

“I think I get your meaning well enough,” Kaito says. He bows. “Excuse me. Again, congratulations,” he says with finality, leaving, bumping into him and pickpocketing his badge, replacing it with a similarly sized gag wallet that won't open.

He opens the FBI badge once he's sure he's out of sight of prying eyes, memorizing the shape, texture, and format. Kaito doesn't expect to ever use it, or have to forge one, but one never knows. He’ll give it back later. Maybe.

Kaito casts another eye over the proceedings. So many people here, especially for a wedding on foreign soil: there's Hondō neé Mōri-san’s old man and his erstwhile wife, which is a given, but there’s also what seems to be half the Tokyo police force— _really,_ was there anyone left in Tokyo, the criminals must be going wild—that bumbling professor, Shinichi's Detective Boys, that one he’d disguised as close by, munching at the food. Heirs of at least four different _zaibatsu_. That martial artist that still gives Kaito nightmares, next to Sonoko, as well as the flat-chested girl with a decent kick. At least one prominent American official tugging at his tie and looking vaguely uncomfortable.

That's not counting Mr. Alphabet's suits. Kaito can spot an agent easily enough and the room is filled with them.

Then his mobile phone rings. It's his manager. Ah, he’d forgotten all about needing to send updates of the past few days of his life to the person that well, managed it. Shinichi really has turned his life sideways, not that he’d let him know. Last night had been—well. ( _heaven_ ) Certainly something.

Kaito steps away, grateful for the excuse to leave, but dreading the coming conversation. He really should have called sooner. He heads outside the reception hall, answers the ring.

“Kuroba speaking.”

A beleaguered sigh. “You don't do anything by halves, do you?”

Kaito winces. “I've been meaning to call, Kaoru, but—”

“Wish I hadn't found out from the news. It's been hellish all day. I've been fielding calls since four am. You think that freaky sky last night would get more attention, but no, it's you and your new beau.”

“I'm sorry, I should have let you know.”

“How exactly am I supposed to spin it to your publicist? What happened? You're usually more discreet than this, and a one night stand with a man isn't exactly good for your family friendly image. You should hear some of the speculation—on second thought, you'd better not.”

“What exactly about the fact he is a man has anything to do with it? If he were a woman would we even be having this conversation?”

“Kaito, I don't care, you know I don't, but you know what the media does to people like us.”

“I can think of many that are still successful entertainers. Times have changed.”

“Not that much.”

“Besides, I'm nothing but some two-bit old magician, remember?” Kaito says, teasing. “You were surprised I’d even made it this far. Would it really matter if I fell from popular good opinion?”

“You just have to keep bringing that up, don't you,” Kaoru says, tone that of long-suffering.

“And it wasn't an affair. He's my husband.”

“ _What_?” Kaito pulls the phone away from his ear mid-yell.

“Mmhmm!” Kaito says, falsely chipper. “You can check with the county. We filed yesterday, and the officiant said they'd already sent it in.”

A groan. “You really don't do things by halves. Let's do damage control. Okay, when and where did you first meet, and how long have you been dating?”

“Sixteen, Tokyo, and one—no, maybe one and a half days?”

“You're kidding,” Kaoru says, disbelieving, but Kaito can still hear the clacking of the keys as he pounds away furiously on his keyboard.

“'Fraid not. Met again in a bar night before last and married yesterday.”

“Kaito, what am I supposed to do with you? _Why_? He's not a gold digger or anything, is he? Did you sign a prenup? Please tell me you signed a prenup. Nevada’s a community property state.”

When would he have had the time? Kaito can't help it; he laughs. “Shinichi? He's the last person that would ever. I don't even think money registers on his radar. I know it's your job to worry about me, but don't. I can handle myself.”

Another sigh. “You can't handle yourself. That's why you hired me. I should really make good on my threats about hiring you a PA. But I don't worry about you because it's my job, I worry about you because you're my friend, Kaito, and I don't want to see you hurt.”

“Right. So if I were to lose my show, you're saying you wouldn't be the first to skip out?” Because after everything had gone wrong between them, Kaito had been the one left scrambling to manage his own affairs. He'd done it well—of course he had, he was Kaito after all—but it hadn't been pleasant, and he'd been too hurt and stubborn to hire anyone else.

“Damn it, Kaito, I'm here till you fire me and beyond that. It hasn't been about the money for a long time, not since the beginning and you know that.” Yet another sigh. “God, Kaito, you do this every time someone shows they care even a little about you.”

“Do what?”

“Push them away. Hurt them before they can hurt you. Is it any wonder I'm surprised? How did he even make it through that icy heart of yours?”

That _hurts_. “Kaoru—”

“How long has he got before you do it to him, too?”

Kaito doesn't know what to say, and he can't hear anything but the dull static buzz of the phone. Eventually, he just says, “You can spin it however you would like, I don't care. Just don't—Shinichi’s not like that, alright? ”

“Wow. He's got his claws in deep already, huh?”

“Kaoru,” Kaito says, tone a clear warning.

“Yeah, yeah, no slandering the spouse, got it. So you met when you were sixteen?”

“Or thereabouts,” Kaito says, thinking. How old was Shinichi really, considering his deaging and subsequent growth?

“That's something I can work with, at least. His last name? I’ll do a background check and find out the rest.”

“Kudō."

“Like the international best-selling author?”

“...Yeah.” Kaito has always believed that surprises are healthy and good for people.

“Anything else I need to know?”

“Nothing that I can think of, no.”

“Let me know if anything comes up. And Kaito?”

“Yeah?”

“Congratulations,” Kaoru says quietly.

“Thank you.”

“Candy just emailed me back; you have a meeting with her tomorrow at seven am to go over strategy. We'll do a spread of interviews over the next few weeks and an exclusive with P— magazine. You’ve been off and on seeing each other since you were teenagers, and finally got impatient with your long distance relationship and decided to wed while he was here.”

Kaito frowns. “Is that really the best we’ve got?”

“On such short notice, yes. You’re the one that rushed to the altar. In any case, make sure he knows the story, all right? You’ll have to coordinate and make sure we’re all on the same page.”

“Fine,” Kaito says. “Oh, one thing, while I have you on the line, that director? Are they still interested?”

“Are you kidding? This just made them all the more eager to have you. You're generating a lot of publicity right now, and good or bad, it helps ratings.”

“Tell them I accept,” he says. “And I'm picky about who I work with. Tell them I refuse to work with O’Donaghue, and if they want me they'll have to let him go.”

“Really, Kaito? I know he's obnoxious, but you're usually more professional than this. It's not like you to be petty.”

“Will you do it or not?” He asks, examining his nails.

“Of course. Why?”

“I have my reasons,” he says, thinking of Ms. Ruby, hanging up. He'll worry about it later, Kaito decides. “Worth it,” he says to the wall.

“I’ve been lookin’ for you,” the wall replies.

Kaito blinks, stares at it a moment, then turns to find a pretty brunette lady in a pale blue dress, hair pulled back with a robin-colored ribbon.

“Hello? I don't believe we've met?” Kaito says, leading.

“We ain't,” she says. “But you met my husband. I'm Hattori Kazuha, so you better call me Kazuha, or it might get confusin.’”

Kaito bows. He unsheathes a rose out of his sleeve, hands it to her as he rises. “A pretty flower for a pretty lady. I’m happy to oblige, Kazuha-san. I'm Kuroba Kaito, but it’s Kaito to a rare blossom such as you.”

She blushes, a little taken aback, but quickly gets hold of herself. “I know. I didn't mean to, but I heard what you said. I dunno who you were talkin’ to, but you were defendin’ Shinichi-kun, so that makes you alright in my book.”

“Thank you…?”

“But I do gotta ask you one question,” Her face is determined, and she takes a deep breath as if to prepare herself. “I know it's a little forward of me to ask—” Kaito tenses. Here it comes again. The third-degree. His reasons for marrying Shinichi. Possibly another threat. “—but how are you doin?’”

 _What?_ “What?” He repeats out loud.

She twists her hands. “I know we just met an’ all, an’ it’s not really my place, but are you all right?”

Kaito can’t help it; he starts laughing. Kazuha confused and a little worried. She reaches out to him, but he waves her off, other hand on his chest, rubbing at his heart, overwhelmed. “That is not a question I expected anyone here to ask me. No, my dear, I am not. But with people like you asking about me, I think I will be.” He inclines his head. “You really are too kind.” Then he thinks better of it, and bows low. “Thank you for taking care of him.”

“I didn’t really,” she says, her hands up.

“You did, and more than you know, just by being there and supporting him.” For accepting Kaito, just because Shinichi had. So many of Shinichi’s friends care dearly for him; even if Shinichi's heart was aching, how could he ever want to leave them for someone like him?

“Oh, no!” Kazuha groans. “Excuse me, but I think I need to go stop this ‘fore it becomes a scene.”

And oh, there's Hattori, looking vaguely annoyed. Kaito sidles over, only to find him arguing vehemently with a face he honestly never thought he'd see again: one Hakuba Saguru.

“They know each other?”

“‘Know’s a strong word. ‘Acquainted’ is probably better. Why, do you know him?”

“He was a high school classmate. Why’s he here?”

“He’s a friend of Ran’s. They went to university together. Small world,” Kazuha observes.

“Isn’t it? I take it they don’t get along?” Kaito asks, his estimation of Hattori Heiji growing greatly. Anyone who annoyed Hakuba that much couldn’t be that bad, even if it was another detective.

“You think?” Kazuha says as their argument grows loud enough they can almost hear the words.

“How does he know Hattori?”

“Met on a case, an’ disagreed with each other’s methods. Loudly.”

If he annoys Hattori, then Shinichi's other best friend really can't be that bad at all. In fact, what kind of man would he be if he didn't assist a friend of a friend in need?

Kaito grins.

 

**IV.**

 

“Ugh, Hakuba? Really?” Kuroba wrinkles his nose. “Years of blissful freedom, and I have to see your ugly face here?”

Saguru blinks, startled. “Kuroba? What are you doing here?” He heard he was famous now, working as a magician in Las Vegas, but he hadn't actually looked into it yet. An oversight that is coming back to haunt him, though in all good reason, this is one of the last places he would have ever expected him to be. He still has those roguishly good looks, and he doesn’t look like age has touched him at all, which is a little unfair.

Kuroba plops down in a chair, puts dirty shoed feet on the white tablecloth. “I'm crashing the reception, duh. What are you doing here?”

Saguru bristles. “I'm a friend of the bride.”

Kuroba sniffs, pops the top of a cola that appears from somewhere unseen, and pours it into a champagne flute procured from his rumpled coat. “Huh. And here I thought Ran had some taste.” He takes a long drink.

Saguru starts to say something, then he catches what Kuroba had said. “‘Ran?’ Why are you speaking of her so familiarly?”

Kuroba laughs, an infuriating sound. “I wonder. Why do people speak to each other with familiarity?” he tilts his head, rubbing his chin, thinking. “It's usually because they know one another, Detective. Elementary,” he says, waving his finger at him.

The phrase makes Saguru narrow his eyes. “Seriously. What are you doing here?”

Kuroba rocks back in the chair, precariously balancing, putting his hands behind his head. “I live here. What are you doing here?”

Hattori's mouth is hanging open. “I see,” he says finally, looking between him and Kuroba. “How about I let you two catch up?”

“Drinks later, Heiji, Kazuha-chan?” Kuroba asks, winking at the hot-headed Osakan, holding out his fist.

“Sure thing!” Hattori’s wife says, bumping it, whispering something in his ear that sounds suspiciously like a ‘Thank you.’

Hattori stares at him for a moment, looks between Kaito and Kazuha, and then fistbumps him as well. “Why the hell not, _Kaito_?” He puts emphasis on his name. “I owe you one anyway. Two now, I guess.”

He goes to say something else, but his wife is already pulling him away by the sleeve of his jacket, leaving Saguru alone with Kuroba, who grins up at him. He feels a headache blossoming. Hattori AND Kuroba, friends? Or at least friendly enough to be on a first name basis? It's like his own personal nightmare. He surreptitiously checks himself for dye or bugs as per habit whenever he’s in Kuroba’s vicinity.

“Kuroba,” Saguru says.

“Hakuba,” Kuroba says.

Silence. Saguru shifts. “I see you managed to do well for yourself.”

“Well enough,” Kuroba says. “I see you’re still looking like a Burberry reject.”

Saguru sighs. “Must we fall into the old familiar patterns of juvenile antagonism, Kuroba? I thought we’d gotten past that in our last conversation.” He had been willing to partake in a conversation that certainly strained the edges of plausible deniability about his former nighttime antics, should Saguru have been so inclined to follow up on it.

“You’re right.” Saguru’s eyebrows raise past his hairline. “Very well.” Kuroba inclines his head. “My sincerest apologies.”

Floundering at the easy apology, Saguru desperately searches for a topic to fill the awkward silence, eventually falling back on the old British standby.

“The rain the other day was a bit unusual for this area, wasn't it?”

“Yes, it was,” Kuroba says. “Whatever else you can say, sunny days are almost always a given here.” More silence as they both search for something to say. “ So are you an inspector, now?”

“Detective Sergeant for the Met.”

“You’re in London now? Really?”

“Japan was never meant to be permanent.”

“You went to university there, though.” Kuroba seems confused. Saguru wonders why. Surely Aoko would have made mention of it, since to his knowledge they talk on a regular basis.

“You weren't there,” Saguru says. It's not quite an accusation. Not quite. “I had no real reason to stay once Kaitou Kid ceased his heists,” he says quietly.

Kuroba snorts. “Not even for Aoko?” It's spoken with a deceptive nonchalance, but Kuroba’s gaze is hard. Saguru wonders how much she told him about that. Probably everything.

But “I wasn't who she really wanted. You know that,” is all he says. Saguru is a man of many things, but he'd rather not be second-best to a memory.

“Do I?” Kuroba murmurs. ”I'm not so sure.”

Deeply uncomfortable, Saguru looks to change the topic. “Are you American now, then?”

Kuroba shakes his head. “Permanent resident.”

“Your friendship with Ran-san and Hattori? I’d rather wondered at it considering your previous diatribes against detectives, especially since as far as I am aware, you've had little to no contact with them.” He’d rather thought that at the end of it all, they'd been something approaching friends. If some of Saguru's bitterness comes out, Kuroba doesn't heed it.

Instead, he smiles almost enigmatically and says, “It’s just a pleasant consequence of a different acquaintance,” and looks past Saguru.

Saguru turns to see what has caught his attention.

“Kaito! There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you!” It's Kudō Shinichi, looking harried with sweat beading down his face. Saguru has seen him well put together in even the direst of circumstances, so this is a very unexpected development. “You vanished!”

Kuroba gestures to himself. “Illusionist!”

“But that doesn't mean you had to disappear on me! I thought you'd—” he looks down.

Only ages of looking for Kid in Kuroba's expressions lets Saguru catch the brief flash pain on his face before it gives way to a pout. “Nag, nag, nag!” Kuroba lets out a big, exaggerated sigh. “Marriage has already taken all the magic out of our relationship. Literally.” He sets his chair back down, gets up.

What? “What do you mean, marriage?” Saguru demands.

“Oh, Hakuba. Didn't see you there,” Kudō says, startled. He looks between him and Kuroba. “You two know each other?” He says, his expression a combination of amusement and surprise.

“Yes,” Saguru says at the same time Kuroba says, “Unfortunately.”

“I see,” says Kudō. “Well, that’s certainly interesting.”

Kuroba waves him away. “It's old news. We were classmates or something. I haven't seen this guy in ages and he's here, crashing Ran's reception, Shinichi,” he tattletales like a child. He even pouts, crossing his arms and turning his head in a huff.

Saguru's ire starts to build, but it stops when Kudō says, “He can't crash it if he was invited, Kaito.” Confusion replaces it. “He was. You weren't.”

“I'm a plus one!” Kuroba says, offended. “That counts! You're just angry because I didn't agree with you this morning about _The Sign of Four.”_

“There's no way _The Hound of the Baskervilles_ is a better novel,” Kudō says, annoyed. “You just said that to be contrary.”

Wait, what?

“Well, _you_ said I couldn't count _Arsené Lupin versus Sherlock Holmes_!”

“We’ve had this discussion before! It’s Herlock Sholmes! It's not written by Doyle!”

“You're only saying that because you can't read it in the original French, _mon amour_.”

“Give me a dictionary and a week,” Kudō says. “Besides, it still doesn't make it a Holmes novel.”

“Does too!”

Since when does Kuroba: one, read in French and two, read Holmes enough to have an opinion? He opens his mouth to comment on that particularly, but what comes out is “You’re _married_? To _him_?”

Kuroba frowns, “You're still stuck on that?” He claps his hands together three times. “Keep up, Hakuba!” He shakes his head. “Still so slow. In any case, it has Holmes in it, so it definitely counts, _querido_.”

“What's with the terms of endearment all of the sudden?” Kudō says, narrowing his eyes.

“Well, I was just thinking you needed some romance in your life, _carissimo,_ what with the magic gone already, so I thought I would speak in a Romance language or two.”

“It still doesn't make it a Holmes novel,” Kudō says, crossing his arms, but there’s a faint blush on his cheeks.

Kuroba leans in, adjusting his clothing in an impossibly short amount of time, making Kudō look presentable.“What's so wrong with a dog coated in phosphorus, anyway?”

“Too close to reality. I have had enough of glowing dogs and murders over inheritance both. You would think the novel involving stolen treasure, adventure, and disguise would be more to your taste.”

“Too close to reality. Although now that you've brought it up, why is _that one_ your favorite?” Kuroba asks, grinning.

Kudō’s blush deepens, Kuroba laughs, and Saguru clears his throat.

“Something you'd finally like to admit to me, Kuroba?” he says, hands in his pockets. They'd both completely forgotten about him.

The smile falls from his face. “Yes, Hakuba. I do have something I need to tell you,” Kuroba intones, countenance unquestionably serious. Wait a minute...is Kuroba actually going to admit to being Kid after all these years? It’s only a matter of pride, now, but Saguru wonders what the motive is behind it. Surprise? A concession to an old rival? He walks over to Saguru, places a hand on his forearm. “I am afraid I cannot return your affections. I am a married man, now.” He shakes his head. “To continue to pine after me would do a disservice to us both.”

“I—But—” Saguru says, unable to voice just how _wrong_ that assertion is. “Kuroba, that is the _last thing_ —”

“I know unrequited love is hard,” he says, interrupting the beginning of Saguru’s tirade, not letting him get a word in edgewise, “but I have faith you'll make it through this no worse for the wear,” Kuroba commiserates, nodding sagely. “You’re a strong person.”

That’s what he gets for thinking Kuroba could ever be wholly serious about anything. But the easiest way to disarm Kuroba is to do something unexpected. So Saguru merely says, “Congratulations, and consider my suit herewith withdrawn.” He lets out an exaggerated sigh, lips forming a moue. “Sadly, I will never be the same.”

“What?” Kuroba says dumbly, gobsmacked, and it takes all of Saguru's control not to laugh. “You’re not really—”

Saguru just smiles. It seems Kudō has him figured out, though, from the way their eyes meet and his mouth twitches.

It’s a little strange, but not entirely unexpected. Kudō and Saguru always had an easy camaraderie.

Kudō Shinichi had been a friend of Ran’s, and she had been the one to introduce them. He’d become reacquainted with her in a class on Criminal Law, and she’d impressed him with her knowledge.

And more than anything else, she’d understood him on a level no one else ever had. It turned out Kudō Shinichi had partially been the cause for that, as well as having an attorney for a mother and nearly a lifetime of being surrounded by detectives, both public and private. So she knew how they thought and was more than able to deal with any idiosyncrasies. A skill she also used on her job as a diplomat.

Kudō had been a little cold at first, likely from his pre existing friendship with Hattori, but they had enough commonalities that it quickly settled into a firm friendship, for all they didn’t associate often.

Saguru wonders how they met. Other than Aoko, Kuroba avoided the circles in which people like Kudō and Saguru moved, a remnant of his previous lifestyle, surely. He wonders if Kudō knows about Kid. Surely he must if Kuroba was so open as to allude to it, he decides.

“Well, well, well,” Kuroba says. “I might be able to find it in myself to respect you after all. You've finally gotten a sense of humor.”

Saguru lets himself smile. “Will wonders never cease?” His smile falls, though, as he says “Kuroba, whatever has happened in the past between us—” Kuroba tenses like Saguru knew he would, considering Aoko, considering that last heist of his “—You know you can contact me, right? If you need anything?” He holds out his business card like an olive branch.

Kuroba stares at it for a long moment with a pensive expression. Saguru doesn't expect him to take it.

He does, squirrelling it away in an inside pocket. “Thanks,” he says softly. “I appreciate it.”

Kuroba nods.

Kudō then tugs on his sleeve. “C’mon Kaito, we need to go before my mother comes back.”

“What’s so wrong—”

Kudō’s hand settles around Kuroba’s hip as he pulls him flush to his side and says in a low voice, “Trust me. We don’t want to be here. Unless you like squealing and having to endure an hours-long interrogation.”

Kuroba looks thoughtful. “Depends on who’s doing it, I guess.”

Kudō sputters.

Feeling a bit lighter in heart after the closure, Saguru walks away, leaving them to it. It seems they’ve already forgotten him.

He thinks about his and Kudō’s mutual love for Holmes, and Kuroba’s disdain for the fictional detective in the past, and his now admittance to having read one of the works. Or several, as it were, enough to have favorites and opinions.

It is easy to see Kuroba as the same person he’d tracked down in high school, but people change. People grow in unexpected ways.

Hmm. He’d forgotten. For some reason, he had immortalized Kuroba just as he’d been the last time he’d seen him: that defiant smirk, that cape fluttering behind him as he disappeared. For some reason, it had slipped his mind that he’d grown and changed in that time.

It’s almost humbling, how easily he'd still let Kuroba manipulate his emotions; even after all this time, the man knew what buttons to press to cause him to react without thinking.

But this…

Saguru shakes his head and puts it out of his mind; there are people to talk to, things to discuss, and a friend to congratulate.

 

 **V**.

 

“To be honest, I can think of better ways to spend our last few moments together,” Shinichi says, linking their hands together. He doesn’t play the flirt. It’s not easy for him to reach out, to take the lead like this. But maybe he doesn’t need to.

Kaito’s playing with his bowtie, already very interested. “Oh? I think I might like this idea.”

Before they can sneak out of the banquet hall, Hattori calls out to him. “Hey, Kudō!”

Shinichi freezes.

“You’re about to skip out again,” Hattori says as he walks up to them. But it doesn't sound like a chastisement. It sounds like resignation.

“Was I really that obvious?” Shinichi says, wincing.

“You’re a newlywed, however unconventional,” Hattori says. “So yeah. You were very, very obvious,” he says with an exaggerated wince. “There're some things I don't need to know about you, Kudō.”

Shinichi pinks as Kaito starts laughing at him.

He turns to Kaito “And _you_. Bein’ all familiar with me like that,” Hattori grumbles. “I get why you did it, but I can't believe you know that guy,” Hattori says. Shinichi can’t believe it either. It’s a small world. Too small.

“Well—” Kaito begins.

Hattori waves him off. “Don't wanna hear it. Anyway, Kudō, why don't you head off?”

“Hattori, are you trying to get rid of me?” Shinichi asks him.

“Sure. One less rival,” Hattori jokes, then he sobers up. “We got a long flight ahead of us, and work after that. Go spend some time together, okay? While you can. I'll make your excuses.”

“Thanks, Hattori.” He thought he’d disapproved. This is completely unexpected, but Shinichi is grateful.

“Yeah, yeah. Consider it my weddin’ present or whatever,” Hattori says, crossing his arms.

“You ca-a- _re_ ~” Kaito singsongs, stretching out the syllables, picking Hattori up in a tight hug and twirling him around, pinning his arms to his chest so he can't escape.

“Hey!” Hattori yelps, but Kaito has already put him down and darted out of reach of retaliation as Hattori pulls back his arm as if to punch him. Shinichi has to fight not to laugh. Hattori's _face_ …

It's also a great show of strength, and Shinichi feels heat rise to his face as he imagines Kaito lifting him like that, so easily, the other ways that particular skill could be put to good use.

“Go on, get outta here!” Hattori says, irritated with the both of them but fighting a smile, and Kaito complies happily, pulling Shinichi along.

And so ends their time at the reception, and soon the day fades into night. Shinichi’s hard pressed to remember any of the passage of time, blurred together in broken fragments and stolen, slow kisses. He _has_ to leave in the morning. He can’t avoid it. He has to close the pages of his life back in Tokyo; it’s not in Shinichi’s nature to up and leave it all behind, as much as he is very tempted right now. He doesn’t want to leave.

After a few pleasant hours spent in bed, Kaito pulls him to the roof of the casino. A day married to the Kaitou Kid and Shinichi is already breaking laws, technically trespassing. He thinks he should feel some kind of way about it but he really, really doesn’t.

He can't even bring himself to care. He's in Kaito's arms, back against his chest, Kaito's thighs on either side of his hips, his arms settled low about Shinichi’s waist, and they're watching the bright lights of the city below, a gleaming jewel on its own. The flickering of taillights, the flash of neon in the distance, drowning out the stars above. Yet looking up at the sky, it could be any city, anywhere, and it’s almost comforting in its vastness. Shinichi feels small, safe tucked into his arms.

Shinichi is warm, and the night is starting to get cool, so he leans all his weight back against Kaito. His chest is broad, and he can feel it expand as he breathes. He has to soak up as much of it as he can now because soon he’ll be back in Tokyo in an empty home with nothing but cases to look forward to. So very little time left.

“I thought you left me earlier when I was talking with Ran,” Shinichi says.

“I did.”

“I meant for good.” Shinichi shifts out of his arms, turning towards him, wanting to see his expression.

“I wouldn't have.” Kaito’s face is unbearably, painfully soft, hand finding his and entwining their fingers together in a lover's tie. “I made a promise. But whatever else you can say about me, I'm only human,” Kaito says. “You can't ask me—I didn't forget how we met again. I'm allowed to be upset about it.”

“It's not Ran's fault. It's mine,” Shinichi protests.

“No,” Kaito corrects gently, “it's no one's fault. And that's what makes this situation so terrible. We can't help who we are, or how we feel. We’re all stumbling around in the dark, blind, hoping that one day the stars will align and bring us happiness,” Kaito says. “Happiness is a matter of chance, not choice.”

“That's a bit cynical, isn't it?” Shinichi says.

“I don’t think so. Contentment is a choice. Resignation is a choice,” Kaito says. “Happiness? It's a gift.”

“Are you happy, then?” Shinichi asks. He has to know. But at the same time, he’s not sure he wants to. It’s not like he’s inclined to think negatively of him, and he had promised to stay, but the fear had been overwhelming when he wasn't able to find Kaito in the crowd.

Kaito twists the corner of his lip. “I think I have the chance to be,” he says.

“I thought I'd made you leave,” Shinichi says quietly.

“I wouldn't leave you, not without a word first,” Kaito says after a long pause.

“You did once.”

“As Kid? I wasn't aware I owed you anything, then.”

“You didn't,” Shinichi admits. “But it felt that way.”

“Much like my idle wonderings about a certain little detective, I’m sure.”

“I don’t suppose you owe me anything now,” Shinichi says.

“I made a promise to you. I'll always come back,” Kaito says. He presses his forehead against Shinichi's. “I told you I wasn't going anywhere,” he murmurs. “I meant it, _tesoro mio._ A gentleman keeps his promises.”

“Hey Kaito?” Shinichi asks as they’re still close.

“Hmm?”

“Would you ever consider it?” Shinichi asks, thinking back to the duality between Kaito’s performance and the man himself, the way he seemed to shadow his past self in a pantomime.

“I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“Returning to the stage as Kid,” Shinichi says, and he fears he misstepped when he sees Kaito tense, taut as a bowstring.

He knows he misstepped when Kaito draws back and says heatedly, “If this really was some long plot to entrap me, so help me—”

That raises Shinichi’s own ire. “It’s not! That doesn’t even make logical sense. Wouldn’t that implicate me, seeing as how I married you?”

“Even if you notified a superior in advance? Or maybe you didn’t figure it out until we were already married, perhaps. There is a line for every hook.”

“Even if I did, how would I ever explain Conan were you ever to go public?”

“Like anyone would believe me if I did; you still hold all the cards. Besides, there’s no sense in going through all this. I’d willingly turn myself in if you asked!” Kaito says, breathing hard, voice rising. “I’m tired!” he shouts. “I’m tired of this,” he repeats much more quietly.

“There are enough people who would believe you it would make my life miserable,” Shinichi says. “And despite all that, wouldn’t I have already told someone if I wanted to? We’ve already had this conversation. We talked about trust. You chose to trust me. I chose to honor that trust and trust you in return. At this point, isn’t it just retreading old ground?” Kaito searches his eyes; Shinichi meets them.

“Then why would you ask that?” Kaito says. “We’ve talked about this as well, but you’re still questioning my motives.”

“I’m not!”

“You are!”

“I just want to see you perform again, okay?” Shinichi blurts out. “And not whatever that was last night.”

“That’s a world-class show,” Kaito says, voice soft. “I thought you said you enjoyed it.” He sounds hurt, and Shinichi can’t take it anymore.

“I did enjoy it!” Shinichi said. “It was one of the best I’ve ever seen, and you know those words aren’t empty flattery, not coming from me. But Kaito, did you enjoy it?” Shinichi runs both hands through his hair, messing it up, shifts abruptly to his feet, stalks away to the edge of the building. “You were a shadow of yourself up there, and I hated it. I hated seeing you that way.” He whirls on his heel; Kaito looks like Shinichi slapped him. “That buried Merlin award, those words you said to me yesterday about rising stars. I’m not stupid, Kaito.”

“I never claimed you were.”

“Then don’t treat me like I am. You told me yourself it was who you were.”

“There are so many things you do not know.”

“Then tell me.”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“You don’t know that. You can’t make that decision for me.”

“But you can make that decision for other people?”

 _Ran_. “You’re right,” Shinichi admits. “I’m a hypocrite. But don’t deflect. Is happiness a chance, really? If you could return to your heists without consequences, would you?”

“I do miss them,” Kaito says after a long pause.

“That’s not a yes or no, Kaito.”

“What would stop you from turning me in?”

“Trust. I can’t claim to know everything about your situation, but even back then I knew you were looking for something. You clearly found it, or else why would you have stopped? Did you even want to stop? What changed?”

Kaito purses his lips, looks away. “I changed. The gravity of what you're asking, Shinichi.”

“I can't believe I'm asking you either. I shouldn't encourage it, but when was the last time you had fun? When was the last time you let yourself go?”

“This morning with you,” Kaito says with a crooked grin.

Shinichi blushes, losing his words for a moment, but he soldiers gamely on. “When was the last time you were truly yourself? Your audience can't tell, but I can. I _know_ you. Maybe not very well, maybe not all the details, but I have seen you perform when you are at your best, and last night wasn't it. If I hadn't had anything to compare it to, maybe I wouldn't have seen that your heart wasn't really in it. But I did. You’re a ghost of yourself.”

“I wasn't as skilled then,” Kaito muses. “And you're saying you prefer those to a show that's been sold out for six months?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Shinichi says with feeling.

“You realize that by asking me to even consider it, you're encouraging me to break the law.”

“I’m not saying it doesn't concern me, but I just want you to be happy,” he says, thinking back to Kaito’s earnest plea in that diner. He's surprised by how much he means it. “If this is what it takes—” Shinichi will help. Or at least look the other way. He can do that much for a thief that never really meant any harm.

Kaito kisses him. Shinichi's not expecting it, so their teeth clack together and their noses bump, Shinichi yelps but kisses back. He doesn't think he's ever had such an unromantic kiss in his life.

He loves it.

“I'd have to change everything,” Kaito says. “Invent new tricks. It's one thing for Kuroba Kaito to imitate Phantom Thief Kid, it's another thing altogether if Kaitou Kid starts imitating Kuroba Kaito.” His voice is nonchalant, but he's vibrating with pent-up energy, gesturing with big sweeping motions.

“Wouldn’t you enjoy the challenge?” Shinichi asks.

“This is all hypothetical anyway,” Kaito says. “Aoko and her father know. Hattori knows. Hakuba knows. Even if you don't turn me in, what's keeping them from doing it?”

So the former inspector does know and hadn’t done anything about it either. Interesting. It only proves his point further. “I don't think Hakuba would have offered you his help if he would. Hattori won't, especially if I explain. If he wouldn't turn me in when he suspected me of murder, he won't. He likes you, surprisingly.”

“...I’m not going to ask for details, but there's a slight problem with that: there was no conceivable way you were guilty. I am.”

“You have a lot of faith in me to say that so quickly,” Shinichi says, amusement in his tone.

“Detective,” Kaito begins, then he stops and lets out a sigh.

“So you're back to that?” Shinichi asks.

“People are complicated, messy creatures. Hurting one another, being hurt, it's all a part of living in this world. No matter how hard you try, arguments and disagreements will happen. People are never true, even to themselves.”

“What are you saying?” Shinichi asks.

“Ghosts should stay dead, Shinichi. I have nothing to gain from resurrecting an old phantom.”

“Except your happiness. Except a piece of yourself.”

“ _Shinichi_ ,” Kaito pleads, pained. “You are the embodiment of temptation itself.”

“'Do you ever just lack?’” Shinichi quotes. “‘Who mourns an illusion?’”

“I didn't realize you remembered anything from that night.”

“It's coming back in bits and pieces,” Shinichi says.

“But Shinichi, what are you saying?”

“I'm saying I do. If this is going to ever work between us, I don't want a front. I don't want some kind of self-flagellating martyrdom. I want you. However you are, whoever you are, in whatever form that makes you happiest. Happiness isn't chance. It's a choice. You have to work for it. And maybe some people have to work harder than others, but that only makes achieving it all the sweeter. Tell me you honestly wouldn't be happier performing as Kid again, and I’ll drop it and never mention it again.”

Kaito just stares at him, quiet.

“Tell me, Kaito.”

“I can't,” Kaito admits. “I want to, but...” he trails off.

Shinichi narrows his eyes. “You didn't make some kind of promise to Nakamori-san you wouldn't, did you?”

“No!”

“Then other than legalities, what's holding you back?”

“I never thought you'd be the one advocating for theft.”

“You claimed you were a thief, but I’m not so sure. What is a thief that doesn’t steal?” Shinichi asks.

“I steal the hearts of millions when I perform. That's good enough for me.”

“Kaito,” Shinichi moves closer, wraps his arms around him. “What's holding you back?”

“My schedule?” Kaito jokes. “No, but seriously, when will I find the time to research potential jewels, infiltrate security, stage heists, fulfill my social obligations, and do my actual job?”

Shinichi reaches into Kaito's pocket, pulls out his monocle and puts it on. “I have an idea.”

“Are you saying—”

“Suits me pretty well, doesn’t it? Of course, I only know a few sleight of hand tricks, so you’ll have to teach me more—”

Kaito hugs him tightly, putting his weight against him. Shinichi’s knees buckle and they fall back against the rooftop, Kaito landing on top of him. Shinichi pulls him down for a kiss. “You’d do that for me?”

“Well, yeah, so long as we actually returned the jewels or whatever. I mean, if we minimize property damage and point out the flaws in security, they should actually be happy. Theoretically.” If it made him happy, it would be worth it.

“Ah, detective! I love you!” Kaito says, nuzzling into his shoulder. Shinichi can feel him smile against his neck.

Shinichi’s eyes soften, and he tightens his grip around him, looking at the fading light of a falling star shooting across the sky. “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanmix/Soundscape used for writing this fic is [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w3xcybdis1k&list=PL_74cBak-qdtfcb85X8NtUAxDraNqfF-t).
> 
> ...So this was supposed to be a short little 4k Valentine's Day oneshot. 40k and hundreds of hours later...Yeah, I have no self-control.
> 
> Thanks to those who have supported me in my writing and continue to do so! I owe an extreme debt of gratitude to you all.


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